Fooling Yourself
by Alluring Insanity
Summary: Neal's facade begins to falter as he is forced to deal with a sudden avalanche of emotions that he had spent the past years burying. As a result he begins to slip into an extremely depressive state, and to cope he develops various unhealthy methods. Is it too late for Peter to intervene and stop Neal from destroying himself? [Warning: drug abuse, self harm, suicidal themes]
1. Finding Silence

This is probably going to be the most crappiest thing I have ever written. I've just gotten into white collar, and I have nothing to do until university starts up so my psycho plot bunny has appeared after reading depressing Neal fics on here and watching sad youtube videos. I decided to write a depressing, and I mean **depressing **Neal story.

**Summary: **With the recent death of Ellen, old wound's of Neal's were forced open and he is forced to deal with all of his buried emotions being released at him all at once. He begins to slip into a depressive state over Ellen's death, and Kate's death and things that had happened in the first years of his prison sentence. Along the way Neal begins developing unhealthy coping methods to deal with the emotions he is experiencing. Is it too late for Peter to intervene and save Neal from destroying himself?

**Warnings: **This story will most likely contain mentions of illegal drug abuse, substance abuse, alcohol abuse, self harm, suicidal themes and nature, disturbing content, and maybe implied non-con although not graphic.

* * *

**Chapter 1 – Finding Silence**

_~ I awoke only to find my lungs empty; throughout the night it seems that I stop breathing. Now my dreams are nothing like they were meant to be, they are nothing but empty, hollow shells that makes me afraid to sleep because of what haunts me – such as living with the uncertainty that I'll never find the exact right words to say, which would completely explain just how, I'm breaking down. ~_

* * *

_The first thing that I noticed was that it was pitch black; I couldn't see anything at all. Oh god what was going on? Where was I? I looked around but all that was there was darkness, miles and miles of darkness stretched on in front of me. I waved my hand in front of my face and was instantly disappointed at the results; I couldn't make out the outline of my own hand 5cm away from my face. Oh god was I blind?! That had to be it, after everything that had happened I'd now lost my sight. I can't believe this could-_

_My thoughts came crashing to a halt as a light bulb above me dimly lit up a small amount of the room I was standing in, in front of me was a large wooden mirror, the sight in front of me made me wish that I was blind. Staring back at me was a small four year old boy with piercing blue eyes rimmed with redness and undried tears. His brown hair was sticking out in all directions and his torso and hands were covered in blood. _

_Ripping my vision away from the mirror I slowly lifted my shaking hands up to my face and noticed that they were stained with blood, I had blood all over my body and my hands, oh god what had happened. Whose blood was this and why was I covered in it, and more importantly where on earth was I and why was I a small child again?! _

"_N-Neal..." a voice behind me cried out. I spun my small, four year old self around to face the location of where the noise had just come from. _

"_H-hello?" I managed to stutter out, "Who's there?" it was then I noticed that there was another light at the end of what looked to be a long hallway. The light was flickering off and on allowing the room to only briefly be covered in light before the darkness once again consumed it. It was as if the two were battling it out over who got to consume the room fully. _

_I slowly made my way down to the end of the hallway and paused, whoever was calling for me was in the room in front of me, I looked down and paled as I noticed that there was more blood near the door way that lead into the room. I took a deep breath and held it as I waited for the light to flicker back on before forcing myself to step inside the room. As soon as I stepped inside the darkness had already once consumed the room. I was terrified as I waited for the light to flicker back on; it was taking longer than usual, had the darkness finally conquered the light in the battle for dominance over the room? I shakily let out the breath I was holding and realized that the light didn't seem to be turning back on anytime soon. This was a mistake; a bad idea. I didn't like standing in the dark, alone, in a room with a pool of blood on the floor. I wanted to run and that's what I did, I turned around and ran, I got about half a metre before I hit the wooden door and bounced onto the hard wooden floor. I placed my hands out beside me to steady myself and regretted the decision immediately as they came into contact with warm, sticky liquid. I only hoped to God that it was not blood. _

_Firstly though why was the door shut? I never shut the door? Was someone else out there, was this all a game? Where was my mum and Ellen, what was going on?! Where was all the blood coming from!? It was at that moment the light conquered the darkness and the room became filled with the warm glow from the light bulb. I instantly regretted the light winning as my eyes came into contact with the frozen ones of those of the dead body lying on the floor one foot in front of me in what looked to be another pool of blood. _

"_This is your fault." A deep voice came from behind me that was evidently laced with hatred, I felt the air beside my face move as an arm shot out from behind me headed straight for my mouth, before the strange man behind me could clasp his palm around my mouth I managed to scream one final word._

* * *

"Ellen!" he screamed into the empty bedroom, his body bolting upright so that he was sitting in his bed with one hand running through his now sweat dampened hair, pushing some stray strands out of his eyes which could now fully see everything that was in front of him. He was back in his apartment; it was all just another one of his nightmares.

Neal clenched his eyes shut and shook his head as if he was trying to shake off the nightmare that had just occurred and the thoughts that accompanied it also. He'd been having these nightmares on and off for the past two weeks, with no idea as to what it was that had triggered them as it had been roughly a month since Ellen's death. He'd had a nightmare or two straight after her death, but never like this, never to this extent, never this bad. He brushed some more stray strands of hair from his eyes and glanced over at his alarm clock, the fluorescent green numbers stated that it was 6:42am. He had managed to get two hours of sleep having just fallen asleep after four am.

Peter would be expecting him at the office in a little over two hours, today was one of the days that Neal had to get to work by his own means. Peter and he had created a schedule where some days he would get picked up by Peter himself, or he would have to get to work by his own means of transport – today was one of those days. He was grateful of that fact, as much as he hated using public transport he didn't really feel that up for the usual _happy _morning chatter between the two.

Pushing the damp covers off of himself he made his way into his dimly lit bathroom, the only light that illuminated the room was the amount that streamed in from the small window in the corner. He couldn't help but cringe at the simple thought of light illuminating a room; he stood in front of the small mirror and again cringed at another simple object. It was insane how much just thinking about light, or a mirror could affect him. However, looking back into the mirror he also cringed at his own reflection that was staring back at him.

_I really do look terrible. _

The dark circles under his blue eyes seemed to be getting a shade darker as the days rolled on. It was a clear sign that he wasn't getting the right amount of sleep that he needed thanks to the ever persistent nightmares that haunted his sleep. His eyes that were once full of life and mischief were now dull and empty. The darkening circles underneath just complemented the look. His hair was sticking out in various odd ways from the obvious tussle he had while he was in bed _dreaming_. His cheekbones had become more prominent also from the lack of food that he was consuming.

Sighing, he turned the knob on the tap for the cold water and cupped his palms underneath the faucet and once an adequate amount of the water had gathered, he bobbed his head down towards his hands and splashed the freezing water onto his face. If the nightmare hadn't completely awoken him, the freezing cold water now had.

He stared back at his reflection once again as he watched the water droplets trickle down his brow and run down his cheeks. As the droplets were running down his cheeks he noticed home similar it looked to as if he was crying. He had long ago stopped crying – it was if there were basically no more tears that he could physically muster up and cry out. Everything inside just felt empty and numb to him now. But watching the water droplets made him remember the times that he had cried over the ordeal. The tears he cried when Ellen had died, the tears he cried when Kate had died, the tears that he had cried throughout his prison sentence – the times in there that he had wished he had died. The tears he had cried when he first started having the nightmares, those nights he woke up in a panic, his heart trying to escape his chest and his throat raw from crying. The tears that he had cried when he realized that he was never enough and would never get answers.

Remembering these times when he had felt emotion, made him feel a twinge of sadness. The smallest bit of hope that he had left was relieved to find that he at least could still feel some emotion – even if it was only one emotion, and the one he wanted to feel the least, not everything was numb. He wanted to feel happiness again, he wanted to feel alive. But he knew that was a lost cause. Those feelings were long gone, and he had a strong suspicion that they were never coming back again.

He sighed again as his mind wandered back to the nightmare that he had just had. He remembered what the unknown voice said to him, _this was his fault. _Ellen's death, Kate's death – they were all his fault. The people who meant the most to him, the people he was closest to kept dying because of him. He was a curse, a problem, he caused innocent people's deaths – he was a monster. They didn't deserve to die, nobody deserved to die because of him. He couldn't let anybody else die because of his very existence. He had to distance himself from Mozzie, June, and especially Peter. He couldn't have them dying or being hurt simply because they were friends with him. He couldn't handle that happening because of him; he could not handle another death on his hands. His palms could not be laced with another person's blood again.

Shaking himself out of his train of thought he decided that a nice, cold shower would do some good right about now. He slipped his t-shirt over his head, but paused midway with his arms still in the air above his head, shirt still in their grasp. His reflection caught his eye, he wasn't surprised to notice the outline of his ribcage beginning to be more prominent. He knew he should eat more, but frankly he wasn't that hungry and to be honest he really just couldn't be bothered with the task of eating. Removing the rest of his clothing he stepped into the shower, turned the cold water on and let it wash over his body. He closed his eyes and relaxed, leaning his head back against the cold tiled wall.

After a good 20 minutes in the shower he stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist, and shook his head to expel any excess water off his hair, the remaining water that stayed attached to his locks of hair dribbled down his back, the effect causing a shiver to run up his spine. He made his way into his wardrobe and started rummaging around for some clothes to wear; grabbing his newly found attire he began to get dressed for work. Once he was dressed he headed into the kitchen to make some much needed coffee.

Glancing up at the clock on the wall as he walked into the kitchen he noticed that it was 7:15am, he was expected at the federal plaza for work in just less than an hour now. He opted to catch a cab this morning rather than the bus as he wasn't really in the mood to be around a bunch of people just yet. Neal was normally considered to be a people person, he was referred to as the outgoing one, he was extremely well with people, but as of lately he felt more and more like being in solitude and staying away from human contact. This was completely against everything a con-man should be. He wondered if his colleagues had noticed this sudden change in his demeanour, the withdrawal from socializing with others, the lack of charming others, the outgoing, charming Neal Caffrey was reclining from human contact. But then again, he was also a con artist, if he wanted them to notice these changes, they would, and if he didn't want them to notice, then there's no way they could see through his cunning acts. He tried his hardest to make it look like everything was going well in the world of Neal Caffrey. He entered that building and exited it every day with those fake smiles plastered across his face. Nobody would ever suspect that they fell almost immediately once he entered the elevator carriage's privacy and were replaced with a blank, empty expression.

After making his much needed cup of coffee he nursed the cup in his hand, after the cold shower he'd just had the warmth from the cup was refreshing. He walked out onto his balcony and stared down at the silent streets below him as he watched the trees gently move from the slight breeze. There were a lot of people in sight, as it was now past 7am; only and many people were making their way to work. He wondered how they felt, what was happening in all of these strangers lives – were they happy, sad, single, married, widowed? He realized then just how insignificant his own existence was, all the people in his life that cared about him were dead. If he was to die, would anybody stop and notice?

Walking back inside after 10 minutes of standing there, he placed his empty cup of coffee into the sink and rinsed it out, leaving the cup in the sink to dry. He contemplated making something to eat, but decided against it as he felt nauseous just thinking about having to consume food. He really needed to start eating more; his clothes now practically were hanging off of him. He knew that this was something he wouldn't be able to con his way out of his colleagues noticing, he didn't think he could lie his way out of explaining his rapidly deteriorating weight. He used to weigh a good solid 150lbs, but he was fairly certain that was into the low 140s, possibly even the high 130s now. He just hoped that his colleagues knew him well enough to not question him about it, or bring the topic up with him in general. The last thing he wanted was Peter asking him if he had anorexia or some other form of eating disorder. At that thought he silently chucked to himself, that could be an interesting conversation. He didn't deliberately starve himself; he had no problems with his weight he knew he was already on the thin side. He just wasn't hungry as of lately, that was all.

It was now just past 7:30 and he was due for work in half an hour. Outwardly sighing he grabbed his phone and wallet that were resting on the table and slid them into his inside suit pocket, grabbing his black fedora on his way out, flipping it up onto his head. June was out of town this week visiting her grandchildren so the place was empty except for the odd maid or two that would do their duties and then not be seen or heard from for the rest of the day. This was fine by Neal, as solitude was beginning to be one of his all time new favourite activities.

Walking outside he hailed down a cab and gave the driver the address to the federal plaza, it was only a 5 minute drive in this traffic so Neal would be getting to work early, he hoped that didn't raise too many suspicions, but honestly he couldn't bear to be alone in his apartment by himself right now. All that was flashing through his mind was the memories of the _dream _he had experienced last night, and right now, that was the last thing that he wanted to dwell on. He instantly thought back to a quote he had said to Mozzie once when they were discussing Mozzie's hatred for people who self-loathed.

"_The most dramatic conflicts are perhaps those that take place not between two men, but those that take place between a man and himself, where the arena of conflict is that of a solitary mind." _Neal wasn't against people self-loathing like Mozzie, but he never thought he'd ever imagine himself doing it, but as of lately there seemed to be a first for everything.

His thoughts were interrupted by the cab driver telling him that the fair came to $12.40 and that he was now at his destination. He looked out of the window and noticed that they were outside the plaza, glancing at the clock it was now 7:42am, that wasn't too early he deduced. Handing over the money to the driver he climbed out of the vehicle and headed towards the entrance to the building. Heading straight towards the elevators once inside he mentally prepared himself for when he exited and plastered that well exercised fake smile across his face.

"Morning Caffrey" Diana was the first person to greet him as she was walking past the elevators just as he had stepped out, "Peter's in the conference room with a new case." With that she walked off to get some requested files for Peter before also heading towards the conference room herself.

"Morning Diana, and great, I just love the new cases, as long as it's not mortgage fraud." Neal cheerily said through a smile as he headed up towards the conference room where he could already see Peter, Jones and the few others that belonged to the _Harvard Crew._ Sighing deeply he walked up the stairs and entered into the conference room where Peter was mid sentence explaining what the new case was.

"... so he's basically making this seem like a private club with exclusive membership high interest offers, when a new member joins they pay the joining fee of $2500 and they are then asked to get two other people outside of the company to join as well with a joining fee of $6000 this is mandatory and must be done to secure their membership, they are also told that the more members they can get to join in, the higher their rewards would be as a sign of gratitude. The new members joining fee is significantly higher than the cost of the employee's, and with lower interest rewards. These two newcomers are then also asked to find two new members each to join in with an increased fee of $9,500 now and so on and so forth with every newcomer, two new comers are asked to join at an increasingly high price, and offered declining interest rates."

"So it's basically an H-Y-I-P?" Neal asked leaning back in his chair, already seemingly bored of this case. It was more investment fraud, another pyramid scheme, a high-yield investment program by some poor company who probably had only embezzled a few thousand dollars in total before the FBI caught on. They never had any interesting cases anymore, it had been ages since they had a good art forgery or a high profile theft.

"Morning to you to Neal, and well basically yes, except, as you weren't here when I was first explaining. This case is extremely sensitive, and not many details have been released as of yet, and any information that has been disclosed needs to be kept private as the man in charge is believed to be Cameron Pierson, CEO of-"

"Cameron Pierson? The multimillion dollar CEO of Nitrac Insurance?" Neal asked, the shock was evident in his voice as he decided to change his mind on this being referred to as boring. "That's the case? We're investigating fraudulent claims against Nitrac Insurance's CEO? Oh this just got so much more interesting." He said trying to cover up a smile as he admired the work Pierson had done, this was a significantly large case.

Peter noticed the way Neal's eyes had lit up when he mentioned the case was regarding Cameron Pierson, one of the most wealthy men in New York, and Nitrac Insurance was one of the most popular insurance companies that there was also. Peter also however noticed how dull looking Neal's eyes were previously before Pierson's name was mentioned, but he pushed that thought into the back corners of his mind.

"Yes Neal, I thought you'd enjoy this case, that Cameron Pierson. That poses a problem though, it's going to be harder to get evidence on such a high profile man, and it's also going to be harder to just casually go undercover, get hired and record some evidence. Pierson only hires certain people, not based on their skill or their degrees, he chooses randomly as I've heard-" Peter was cut off mid sentence.

"No, he may look like he chooses randomly but there's always a reason behind it. You don't get that rich, that quick and have such a successful scam based purely on luck. I'll go undercover, using one of my trusty aliases and see if I can buy in and work my way up, that's never failed before has it?" Neal suggested.

"You just want to meet the man. Add him to your little con artist fan club or something." Diana commented, whilst laughing as she also had noticed that Neal seemed to get interested when Pierson was mentioned.

"Fan club? Really Diana? It's more like an exclusive cult." Jones joked, adding his two cents into the conversation, Neal's interest in the case was not lost on anybody in the room, even the Harvard crew.

"Really guys I'm hurt. I'm just helping out... but you know, if you have a better idea I'm mor-" it was Neal's turn to get interrupted this time.

"No, Neal you can go undercover, we'll allocate you some money so that you can buy in, does Nick Halden work for you?" Peter asked, resulting in ending his team's harmless banter between each other but not before adding his final bit "and besides, we all know that it's probably some type of underground gang." Earning a chuckle out of Diana and Jones.

"Nick Halden works fine, and you guys, you're all so cruel." Neal placed his hand over his heart, as he feigned being hurt by that comment. "When and how do I meet Pierson?"

"Well we have an employee of Nitrac Insurance, Jason Brenner, who is the one who brought these accusations to our attention in the first place. He hasn't got any interested buyers yet who are willing to buy some _membership_, so we're going to have you as his first buyer. You're going to buy in, and start bringing in many more buyers under you, fake buyers of course, but Pierson will see you as a good game player, and we're hoping that this leads to at least a discussion between the two of you and possibly even warranting you getting hired as an employee so he can keep this amount of buyers coming in from you." Peter explained.

"Oh well this sounds fun." Neal plastered that well exercised smile on his face, at the beginning the case had sounded interesting and he was looking forward to meeting Pierson initially, but it was as if someone had flicked a switch in his brain and just drained the entire amount of excitement he felt regarding the case. All Neal wanted now was for it to be over and to go back home, lock himself in his apartment away from everybody and sleep. His drastic mood changes were beginning to happen more and more frequently, and as much as Neal wanted to deny it, they were starting to concern him.

* * *

This was not what Neal was expecting when he arrived at the address Jason was driving him to, looking over at Jason who seemed to be equally confused as to why they were here. Taking a deep breath he tore his vision from Jason back to the run down hall, which looked like it had once been a sporting facility.

"Is this the right address?" Neal asked, glancing back to Jason who was climbing out of the vehicle. "I thought you were taking me to meet Mr. Pierson?" he asked, climbing out of the car to go and join Jason in front of the building.

"Ah, you must be Nick Halden." A voice from behind him bellowed, causing him to turn around and see a small Asian man heading towards him from inside of the building. "I've been waiting for Jason here to finally bring in a buyer, took him long enough though. I'm Mr. Cheng and I'm one of Mr. Pierson's assistants, to be given a meeting with Mr. Pierson you must first earn the right to that meeting. He doesn't just agree to speak to anybody that asks."

"_Earn the meeting? What on earth does that mean, where's Neal GPS say he's at?" Peter asked, as he, Jones and Diana were all sitting in the van listening intently to Neal's conversation through his FBI issued watch._

"_I'm not entirely sure boss, but his location is at the corner of Jefferson and 3__rd__ avenue, it looks to be a hall, uh yes the Hillson Recreational Centre, it closed down about 7 months ago." Jones added, also confused as to what was happening._

"I'm sorry? Earn it?" Neal asked, intrigued but also highly confused as to what was going on.

"Yes. Earn it. There's another Nitrac employee in the building already, with an interested buyer he wants to join in also, but you see unfortunately because they both waited longer than they should have to find a person to buy in, only one of them gets to buy in and the employee who's participant loses, also loses some of those lovely rewards they have access to due to their stupidity and lack of motivation to find someone to sign in. Mr. Pierson doesn't like to be kept waiting. To decide who wins and who loses you get to participate in one of Mr. Pierson's favourite sports – fencing. " Mr Cheng said, walking into the building, leaving the two men standing behind outside.

"Fencing? Are you serious? A little heads up would have been nice!" Neal groaned, to nobody in particular. This was not something that he wanted to be doing now, fencing took co-ordination, agility and quick reflexes all of which Neal possessed highly, but with his current situation he didn't think he'd be able to do as well as needed. His lack of sleep had severely affected his co-ordination and reflexes.

"Can you fence?" Jason asked, worried now about the outcome since his own job benefits were on the line.

"I hope so." Neal sighed and walked into the building.

"_Well for once he doesn't sound confident." Diana commented, it was unusual to hear Neal unsure on something. "Neal Caffrey not confident is not a good sign at all." She sighed, she could practically count the amount of times Caffrey was unconfident in his abilities on one hand._

"_I'm sure he'll do fine, it's fencing, and he's fenced before." Peter said, reassuring himself and the others, he couldn't help but notice the defeated tone in Neal's voice when he spoke though. He hoped that it was just his imagination; Neal didn't give up that easy no matter what it was. The con man never backed down from a challenge, it wasn't in his nature._

Once he had entered the building he immediately started taking in his surroundings, the walls were a light blue colour and they contained various framed photographs of different sports, there were a few baseball photos, some rowing photos and a _lot_ of fencing photos. The frames surrounding the photos had about a millimetre of dust sitting on top of them, and the glass covering the photos was also a dusty shade. It didn't look like Pierson regularly felt the need to clean this place.

Neal heard the door behind him open, assuming that it was Jason finally catching up to him he kept walking to the end of the corridor. There was a large room in which he could see three other men standing off to the side, he had almost reached the doorway when the light bulb in the room in front of him began flickering off and on, before settling back to lighting up the room with the dull glow. It was in that moment that his breath caught in his throat and he visibly paled.

He was no longer standing in the hallway of the sporting centre, he was back in _that house _and there was blood, so much blood everywhere, on him, on the floors, on the body – the body – oh god the body – Ellen. He heard a scream ring out in is ears as the images assaulted his mind.

"Mr Halden?" Jason asked, placing an arm on the young man's shoulder. He had walking behind Neal when suddenly he had stopped and just stood there with a frozen expression on his face. If he didn't know any better he swore the younger man in front of him was going into some type of shock. "Are you okay?"

It was only a matter of seconds before his stoic expression fell across his face and he shook himself out of his reverie. "I'm fine, sorry I just remembered something that I had forgotten to do, it's nothing." And with that his favourite con man smile was placed across his face and he had entered the room where the others were waiting.

"_What's wrong with Neal?" Diana asked._

"_I'm not sure but you can practically feel the fear that was in his voice." Jones commented, also noticing how off his game Neal seemed to be today._

"_I'm sure it's nothing, he knows the safe word to get us in there. Besides it's Neal, I'm sure he's more than capable at handing himself." Peter reassured his team members, although there was no denying that when Neal had last spoke his voice was in fact laced with fear._

"Ah, Mr Halden and Mr Brenner, about time I thought that you two had forfeited. Meet Mr Lavern and his interested buyer Mr. Stonem." Mr Cheng laughed before picking up a Sabre and handing it to Neal. "You may need this if you want to win."

"Where do we get changed?" Neal asked, looking down at the weapon in his hand, he swore for a second that his mind was playing tricks on him and that the blade look like it was dipped in blood. Closing his eyes tightly he re-opened them to see that he was holding an ordinary Sabre, nothing unusual about it at all.

"Oh you see that's the thing. In this match, there's no protective clothing. You can't get too injured if you know what you're doing and if your opponent also knows what they're doing. It adds some interest into what I find to be a boring sport, of course Mr Pierson doesn't agree with that, but we need our investors to be ruthless and this is the best way to prove to me, and Mr Pierson that you're willing to stop at nothing to get what you want." Mr. Cheng added another one of his disturbing laughs and backed up to where there was a worn out lounge chair. "Let the games begin."

"What d-" was all Neal managed to get out before a blade was whipped in front of his face, caught momentarily off guard he stumbled backwards. "This is-" again he was cut off by the weapon coming into contact with his arm, the impact stung a little with there be knowing protective padding.

"One point to Mr. Stonem" bellowed Mr Cheng's voice, "you may want to actually try if you want to win Mr Halden."

Neal couldn't even think straight as he swung the sabre at the man in front of him, desperately trying to score and block hits simultaneously. That damn light in the corner kept flickering on and off and every time that it flickered off he swore that his opponent's blade was covered in blood. He kept swinging and swinging, the scores were pretty even with him being on five points and Stonem being on six. He had a fair chance of winning this, well at least that was until he took his eyes off his opponent for a split second and they fell on what looked to be that of a body lying in the corner of the room.

Immediately stepping back and lowering his weapon at the sight in front of him he became an easy target and was hit in the torso, registering another point to Mr Stonem. Blinking his eyes furiously he noticed that whatever was there a split second ago no longer was there now. His mind was playing tricks on him and he couldn't handle it, the lack of sleep he had over the past few weeks was insane and it was now catching up on him. He took in a shaky breath and noticed just how much his hands were shaking. There was no way he could win this tournament, he didn't even think he could hold on to the weapon that was in his grasp for much longer. Everything around him was tormenting him, everywhere he looked he would be reminded of the nightmares he kept on having, he kept on seeing blood everywhere and if he didn't know any better he swore he was about to have a panic attack – Neal Caffrey did not have panic attacks.

It was like he was drowning in emotions, he couldn't think straight, his head was pounding he just needed everything around him to stop twirling and mixing the colours in his vision together, he needed to stop seeing things that reminded him of that day, of his dreams – when suddenly it all stopped and he gasped in what he thought was shock, or was it pain. Everything stood still, the colours stopped dancing, his heart slowed down to a normal rhythm and the light bulb in the room had stopped flickering. Everything was normal once again in his mind. His emotions were no longer threatening to drown him and he could think straight for the first time in the past hour.

Except he was still hallucinating blood on his opponents sabre. Closing his eyes he wished it to all go away.

"Mr Halden are you all right?" his opponent asked, lowering his sabre to the ground.

"I-I'm fine." Neal answered honestly, unsure of why he was so calm, he was shocked to notice that when he looked at his opponent he was still hallucinating blood until he noticed that everyone had moved in closer towards him and were staring at his forearm. Looking down at his arm he noticed that the sleeve of his white dress shirt had been slit, and blood was beginning to circle around the slit in his shirt.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to cut your arm." Mr Stonem said, he honestly was sorry for injuring the young con man. Especially since he didn't look to be feeling well when he was in the middle of the fight to start with.

However all Neal could do was glance down at his now injured arm, this is what had brought him out of his subconscious, this is what had brought him out of his horrid thoughts and hallucinations. This is what caused everything to stop.

**_Pain._**

_He found silence in the pain._

* * *

There we go, first chapter done and dusted. I wasn't expecting it to be this long also. I'll try and keep the next chapters at a 3-4,000 mark. Not 6,000+ haha. But, please **review **! that's pretty much the only motivation I have to keep posting chapters on here. I need to know people are reading it, and enjoying it :)


	2. Failure by Design

Thank you for the reviews! Glad that people are actually reading and enjoying this. I didn't expect anybody to actually, haha. It's currently 4:45am as I am uploading this, I pulled an all nighter just so I could reward all you lovely people with another chapter quickly! So keep reviewing guys, because it's basically fuel to getting this uploaded quicker.

* * *

**Chapter 2 – Failure by Design**

_~I wish that I was too dead to care, if indeed I cared at all. I never had a voice to protest, so you just fed me shit to digest. I wish I had a reason; my flaws are open season, for this I gave up trying. You don't need to bother, I don't need to be, I'll keep slipping farther, but once I hold on... I won't let go until it bleeds~_

* * *

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to cut your arm." Mr Stonem said, he honestly was sorry for injuring the young con man, especially since he didn't look to be feeling too well when he was in the middle of the fight to start with.

However all Neal could do was glance down at his now injured arm, this is what had brought him out of his subconscious, this is what had brought him out of his horrid thoughts and hallucinations. This is what caused everything to stop.

"No it's fine; it's nothing but a slight scratch." Neal said whilst shrugging one shoulder, still confused as to why his body had reacted the way that it had to the sudden onslaught of physical pain.

"Well it looks like we have a winner of today's match. Congratulations Mr Stonem, I'll set up a meeting with you in the near future to discuss the terms of this purchase you have secured. I'm sorry Mr Halden, but you did not manage to qualify for this investment opportunity at this point in time, oh and also Jason, Mr Pierson would like to have a word with you once you get back to the office." Mr Cheng didn't seem to want to stay in the run down sporting facility any longer than he had to as he ushered the participants down the hallway whilst saying his goodbyes to them, before heading towards his own vehicle.

"So what happens now?" Jason asked once out of earshot of the other three men.

"I honestly don't have the slightest clue." Neal sighed, subconsciously running a hand through his hair. He had no idea where they were going to go from here, he had blown their one opportunity that they had to get exclusive access to what happened during an investment buy in, and Neal was sure that Peter was not going to be happy with the fact that they had missed out on that opportunity.

_Peter's going to be so disappointed in me, I really let him and the others down. _The thought flashed through his mind, he really was dreading facing Peter after his pathetic attempt at securing them this opportunity. Neal didn't do well with failure, especially when it was in relation to the bureau and reflected badly on Peter.

"Well I have a meeting with Mr Pierson apparently, so I'll go to that and hopefully it's nothing too bad that he wants to talk to me about, and then afterwards I'll drop by again and go from there. Do you have a way back? Because I should really get going now he doesn't like to be kept waiting for long..." Jason mumbled whilst looking at the ground, it was obvious from his demeanour that he was not at all looking forward to his meeting with Cameron Pierson, much the same as Neal wasn't looking forward to meeting back up with Peter, Jones and Diana. They had both respectively let their bosses down just then in that sporting facility.

"Yeah I've got a lift roughly a block away, good luck with your meeting, I'm sure it's nothing to be concerned about." Neal pattered the man on the forearm and proceeded to walk off towards where he knew the rest of the team were parked waiting for his return in the van.

It was only about a five minute walk to where the van was parked but Neal was grateful for the silence, and to be by himself for a few minutes, even if it was only for a short amount of time. He was still extremely confused as to what had just taken place back in the recreational centre, from the unconventional fencing match – to his losing of the fencing match, and the reasons as to why he had lost the match. He was fairly certain that he could have won that match hands down if it wasn't for the absurd images that were assaulting his vision every few seconds. What really concerned Neal was that there was absolutely no solid explanation as to why he was suddenly hallucinating things that weren't there and especially why they were such horrid hallucinations.

He just hoped that he could chalk the bizarre images up to his lack of sleep, and it was just that his brain wasn't coping with the small amount of sleep he was trying to function on and not that his current mental state was slowly deteriorating on him. He desperately hoped that he could get a solid amount of sleep tonight and that tomorrow when he woke up the images were erased out of his mind and he could get back on track.

Before he knew it he had approached the van where the rest of his team were waiting, taking a deep breath he braced himself for the onslaught he believed he was about to receive from Peter and opened the van's door to reveal Peter inches away from his face, looking slightly on edge.

"Neal! Are you alright, we heard that you got injured?" was the first thing that Peter Burke said to the younger man as he stepped inside of the van. Peter didn't however notice the colour that drained from Neal's face as his demeanour changed as a reaction to such an innocent question.

"Uh yeah, oh it's nothing, just a slight scratch. Nothing to worry about." Neal said, flashing his best con-man smile that he could muster. This was the last topic that he wanted to discuss right now, as he still didn't understand things concerning the matter himself.

"Let me take a look." Peter said moving to grab at Neal's arm to take a better look at the damage that was inflicted, but Neal had jerked back before Peter could reach a hold of him.

"It's fine Peter!" Neal's tone came out more hostile than he had intended it to, and he immediately regretted it as he watched Peter's reaction, and even Jones' and Diana's reaction to his sudden hostility towards them. "It's just a slight scratch; we have more pressing issues at hand then this." He quickly added, hoping that they wouldn't read too much into his current attitude towards the topic.

"Caffrey's got a point, what are we going to do now about Pierson?" Diana asked, sensing Neal's aversion to the previous discussion and deciding it would be best for everyone to just drop it, unknowing to the real reason behind Neal's distaste for the conversation, she chalked his unusual reactions up to the fact that he was probably brooding over the fact that he had lost the fencing competition, and then even managed to get himself injured in the process. She was sure that Neal Caffrey didn't lose often, and it wasn't something that Neal Caffrey would be proud of either, and if there was one thing that Neal didn't like discussing, it was his mistakes – the few ones that there were, but still his mistakes were a conversation he didn't like to partake in.

"I'm not entirely sure, right now we'll just have to wait until Jason Brenner has had his meeting with Pierson and see where things can move on from there." Peter said, also deciding to drop the topic that Neal obviously wanted no part in. "We'll head back to the office and go over the documents that we received and see if we can find a way to somehow get the upper hand in the situation."

* * *

Once back at the federal plaza the rest of the team had headed straight to the conference room to mull over the documents and see if there was anything that they had missed the first time reading through them. Neal however had quickly excused himself and headed straight towards the men's restrooms.

Once inside his eyes quickly scanned the area and he was relieved to find that nobody else was in there. Letting out an exhausted sigh he glanced at his reflection in the mirror, his face had gotten significantly paler since this morning which was probably due to the physical exertion he had just put on his body, the fact that he had little to no sleep the night before did not help with his re-cooperation and the fact that he wasn't eating much probably didn't help either. Running his hands through his hair he attempted to tame the curls that were now falling in every direction due to the fencing stunt, one he was as satisfied as he could get with his current appearance he glanced down just under his left shoulder blade.

His dress shirt was stained a deep maroon colour around the edges of where it had been sliced by the sabre, and the edges of the material were sticking to the now dried blood that was around the wound. Taking a deep breath he unbuttoned his shirt and removed the material from his body and placed it onto the counter top. Turning his body slightly so he could get a better glance at the cut in the mirror he noticed how small the injury really was, it wasn't deep and it didn't look to be anything more than an animal scratch. Neal however was still confused as to how such a small injury had such a large impact on his mental and physical state, however before he could continue his train of thought the door to the restroom had opened.

"Neal we really could use your help out-" Peter abruptly stopped mid sentence as he realized that Neal was standing there shirtless examining his injured arm. "Oh how's the arm going?" he asked stepping closer to the young con man, hoping that this time Neal would allow him to examine his injury for himself.

Neal sighed and tipped his head back in exasperation, "Peter I'm fine, it's a slight scratch, nothing but an over-sized paper cut. It doesn't even hurt. I'm more upset over the fact that one of my favourite shirts had to get ruined in the process. I don't even have a spare shirt here at the moment."

"If it's such an issue you can always wear one of the FBI windbreakers over your shirt, no one has to see that you got attacked by a fencing sword." Peter said, trying to hide the chuckle that was threatening to escape.

"You really trust me wearing one of your precious FBI windbreakers? Wow Peter, I'm actually honoured." Neal laughed, slipping on his torn shirt to shield the injury from Peter's prying eyes. "That'd actually be great though. I really don't want to walk around all day looking like a wild animal attacked me."

"As long as you don't impersonate an agent whilst wearing it then it is fine by me, now come on I'll go find you one and then we'll need your help reviewing these files." Peter said over his shoulder as he was already walking out of the restroom to collect a windbreaker for Neal to wear over his destroyed shirt.

Following Peter out of the restrooms Neal headed towards the conference room where he could see Diana and Jones reading through the files that they had on Cameron Pierson and Nitrac Insurance. This was one case that Neal couldn't wait for to hurry up and end, to start with it had sounded like it would be something he would look forward to, and he had to admit it still did interest him with Cameron Pierson being involved but so far nothing had been going according to plan regarding the whole ordeal, and Neal hated when the cases they worked on didn't go as planned – especially when it was due to one of his own faults.

Walking into the conference room he slid into the chair at the end of the table and grabbed one of the files that were resting on the table in front of him. Jones and Diana hadn't even looked up at him as he had entered the room, as they were that engrossed in reading the files that they had in front of them.

It was only a matter of minutes before Peter walked back into the conference room, windbreaker in tow. "Here, now remember Neal no impersonating a federal officer." Peter laughed whilst handing the jacket over to the younger man who eagerly slipped it over his shoulders.

"You couldn't have found a smaller size, what is this a size large?" Neal said whilst adjusting the windbreaker, it hanged loosely off of his shoulders and gave off the impression of a small child playing dress up in his father's work uniform – not that of one of the most cunning con-men in New York.

"Pretty certain Caffrey that it's the smallest they make, you're just ridiculously slim." Diana said, leaning back in her chair and placing her folder down on the table to take a look at Neal wearing the jacket. "It actually makes you look smaller than you already are, if that is even possible. Do you even consume any food?" Diana laughed taking in Neal's appearance.

"I have a high metabolism." Neal said grumpily, sitting back down and grabbing a hold of one of the files and scanning through it, signalling to them that this was a conversation he did not wish to continue.

Peter however didn't fail to notice that Diana was right when she mentioned that Neal was ridiculously slim, he had always had a small frame but as of lately Peter couldn't help but notice that it looked like the younger man was losing weight at what seemed to be a drastically fast pace. The jacket that he had given Neal had been the smallest size they had, as Diana had mentioned, but it practically hung off of Neal's shoulders and thus really highlighted just how much weight it seemed the young man had lost over the past few weeks. Peter knew that the last thing Neal would want to do would be to talk about the topic, that however didn't mean that Peter was going to just drop the subject and forget he had noticed how thin Neal was getting. He wouldn't mention it today, or even tomorrow, but he promised himself that he would keep an eye on Neal and if it looked like he lost anymore weight that he couldn't afford to lose, Peter would confront him about it.

Getting back to the task on hand Peter sat down across from Neal at the table and grabbed one of the files that detailed the recent incomes of Nitrac employees in the past six months and began scanning through the documents with the rest of his team. It had only been roughly just over an hour before they all got to suddenly stop reading through the documents in front of them that were now becoming a bunch of blurry words to Neal as Jason Brenner had entered the FBI plaza – and he was not looking happy.

"Agent Burke! I need a word with you." Jason yelled, marching up the steps two at a time and heading towards the conference room. The man's face was laced with tension, and Neal swore that he could see the vein in the man's temple pulsating from where he sat across the room.

"Jason, certainly, come this way with me into my office." Peter ushered the distraught man into his office away from the rest of his team and from the rest of the floor's agents. "What seems to be the problem Jason?"

"I got fired because of this!" Jason all but screamed at the older agent.

"I'm sorry, what? You got fired? Why?" Peter asked, generously confused as to what happened and what possessed Cameron Pierson to fire one of his employees so suddenly, was he onto their investigation?

"Apparently I took too long finding people to buy in and so my investment was cancelled, and so was my employment status and it's all because your man lost that god damn fencing tournament!" Jason yelled, pointing his finger in the general direction of the conference room where Neal was located.

As if on cue, Neal walked right into Peter's office, having little to no regard to the meeting that Peter was currently holding in there. "Peter! I found-" he began before getting abruptly cut off.

"You! You got me fired!"Jason screamed at the young con man, turning around to face Neal who was standing in the middle of the doorway startled at Jason's sudden outburst towards him.

"Wait what, I got you fired? How does that work out?" Neal asked raising an eyebrow at the man who seemed to be just on the verge of having a breakdown. "I didn't do anything?"

"That's the point! You didn't do anything! You never won that god damn fencing tournament, and Pierson got angry at me for taking so long to get someone to buy in and then I got fired because I failed to prove my potential to him after taking too long and then having you go in there and make me look like a god damn fool!" Jason yelled throwing his arms up in exasperation, that breakdown was not as far off as it previously was.

_Nice going there Neal, you cost the poor man his job because of your pathetic excuse of fencing. What even was that back there, I'm sure that a three year old child could have beaten you easily! You really are exceptional at screwing people's lives up and ruining everything you come into contact with. You should really get a medal for your ability at fucking things up. _

"Jason I didn't mean to get you fired, I'm sure we can work out a way for you to get your job back and for our investigation to continue into Nitrac Insurance." Neal said pushing the unwanted intrusive thoughts into the far back corners of his mind, now was not the time or the place for him to dwell on his own self loathing problems.

"NO! You don't understand, I don't want you to keep investigating, I don't care anymore! You have already ruined my job and my life, I don't care what you do now but I want no part in it anymore!" Jason yelled running his hands through his hair. "I never should have brought this to you in the first place!"

"Jason we can-" Neal was abruptly cut off mid sentence.

"Neal get out." Peter said, voice void of all emotion and leaving no room for argument.

"What? Peter I-" confusion was evidently laced throughout Neal's voice.

"Neal, now. Get out." Once again Peter's voice remained void of any hint of emotion, and his face was expressionless and completely unreadable to the young con-man.

Surprised at Peter's sudden attitude towards him, he followed out Peter's request and walked out of the agent's office leaving the two men in there to continue their heated discussion without his presence. Not wanting to go back into the conference room and work on a case that he was so obviously not wanted on Neal decided that he would head home early for the day instead, he ignored the nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him that wouldn't go across well with Peter who already seemed to be annoyed at him. Peter could be annoyed with him all he wanted, Neal knew when his presence wasn't wanted and he didn't plan on sticking around the office to be yelled at by Peter for something obscure like breathing too much oxygen.

Walking down the stairs from Peter's office he headed towards the elevators ignoring the fact that some of the agent's at their desks were glancing at him, he wasn't sure if it was due to the outburst they probably just saw happen in Peter's office or the fact that he was still dressed as one of them; wearing their FBI windbreaker. Whatever it was he honestly didn't care, he just wanted to get out of the damned building and go home.

Once inside the elevator he pressed the button for the ground floor, let out a heavy sigh and leaned back against the elevator's wall. Neal was extremely confused as to what had just happened in there.

_Is he honestly mad at me for losing that stupid fencing competition? Does he honestly blame me as well for Jason losing his job? There's no way I could have known that losing the competition would affect Jason badly as well as make us lose a solid opportunity to gain access into Pierson's exclusive club. Fuck. Peter is blaming this on me, the reason for failing this case is going to be handed to me on a damn silver platter with a go directly to jail card and do not collect your 200,000. This isn't my damn fault. I didn't purposely fuck this up. God dammit. _

Closing his eyes tightly Neal blocked out his surroundings and rested his head against the elevator wall until he reached the ground floor and practically ran out of the elevator. All he wanted was to get home and go to sleep and hopefully everything would be back to normal – no more nightmares, no more hallucinations, no more intrusive thoughts and no more screwing up important aspects of the cases he was working on.

Hailing down a cab he gave the driver the address to June's house and before he knew it the cab was pulling up out the front of the building that he now called his home, he handed the driver the amount that the fee was and walked into his home.

_Home. _Was this really his home? A home was somewhere you felt safe, secure and loved. Somewhere that was a refuge to the harsh reality of the outside world, somewhere you could go when you just wanted to forget that anything outside of the four walls that surrounded you existed. Somewhere where nothing mattered except for the people that you shared that home with. But who were these people? Who could he rely on when he really needed someone the most?

Sure there was June, she and him had gotten close since he had moved in, but he didn't want to have to put any more added pressure on her than he already did just by being a convicted felon living in her guest room. There was always Mozzie, he was always there for him when got in trouble, when he needed a lawyer, when he needed advice on what to do next, when he needed help planning, but would Mozzie be there for him when he got in trouble with something more complex than the law, than some criminal they were chasing after, would Mozzie be there when his own walls he built around himself caved in on him and made him a prisoner of his own mind. Would Mozzie be there to help him then, help him free himself from the walls that confined him inside of his own subconscious?

What about Peter, he used to think that Peter would be there for him no matter what happened and what he did. But as of lately, he had noticed Peter getting more and more distant towards him, and even though that's what he wanted so as to not unintentionally cause the older man harm – it hurt. It really fucking hurt. Things were going downhill fast and Neal didn't want to keep lying to himself, things weren't okay in the world of Neal Caffrey – but when you had nobody to turn to, nobody to help you, the appearance that you created where everything was going fine was the only security you had, the only hope you had of surviving against everything that was thrown at you.

Walking inside he noticed that the maids were nowhere to be seen and that they must have already finished their duties and clocked off for the day early. June was still away visiting her relatives and wouldn't be back until the end of the week – the house was quite and Neal could finally have some much needed solitude.

Once upstairs inside of his room he took off the FBI windbreaker and threw it across the backs of one of the chairs at his kitchen table, the bold yellow letters stared back at him. What was he doing working with the FBI, could he really trust Peter, could an FBI agent actually become _friends _with a convicted felon that he was responsible for sending to prison in the first place or was Neal just kidding himself to think that Peter actually liked him and wasn't just putting up with him. Letting out a sigh he unbuttoned his ruined dress shirt and tossed it on the couch, kicked off his shoes and walked over to his bed and plopped his body down on it not even bothering to change out of his dress slacks he closed his eyes and willed himself to fall asleep.

The intrusive thoughts that had been creeping up all day were starting to sneak back up on him again and he didn't really want to have to deal with sitting by himself wallowing in his own self pity. The clock on the wall revealed that it was just after 2pm, right now would be a perfect time for him to try and catch up on the sleep that he so desperately needed to be able to continue functioning at a normal level and not arouse any suspicions with his co-workers, especially from Peter.

_Peter. _

_You know that he only puts up with you because you are helping his success rate at catching criminals. You're fooling yourself if you think that he thinks of you as anything more than a pathetic excuse of a criminal who got caught – twice. You're nothing to him, you're nothing to nobody. The only thing you are good at is turning on the people who are just like you, ruining their lives just like yours was ruined. This job works out well for you, you get to screw people's lives up and send them to jail – because you know how fun that was. All you're ever good for is ruining people's lives. You ruined Kate's, you ruined Ellen's, you ruined Peter's and now you ruined a guy's life that you just met. It only took you what, 5 hours to fuck that man's life up? Good work Neal. _

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut he rolled over and willed for everything in his mind to shut up, all he wanted was silence and to be able to get one night of peaceful sleep, but that seemed to be all too much to ask for as the thoughts that were bugging him all day were threatening to overflow inside of his mind.

_I wonder how long it will take before Peter realizes that you're too much of a liability, soon you'll start causing law suits with all the lives that you're going to keep fucking up. Every wrong move that you make Neal; you're one step closer to going back to prison. I'm sure you'll like that; I mean it was so much fun in there with –_

"Shut up!" Neal yelled to the empty apartment, rolling onto his side he attempted to bury his face into his pillow but gasped at the sudden sting of pain he felt shoot up his left arm.

The bed sheet had rubbed against the scrape on his forearm and caused a slight prickling sensation of pain to tingle down his left arm at the unwanted contact. It wasn't just the pain that had caused him to gasp however; it was the quietness that was accompanied with the pain he felt. When the pain was shooting down his arm the thoughts that were racing through his mind came to a halt, they just stopped abruptly as his mind focused on the pain – and the pain alone. It didn't last long though as the pain quickly subsided and the unwanted feelings, emotions and intrusive thoughts all came crashing back down, and assaulted his mind once again.

An idea quickly formed in the young con man's mind and before he knew what he was doing he grasped his palm tightly around his forearm where the fencing wound was located and squeezed his hand against the wound. The pressure on the wound caused a slightly higher level of pain to be released then before and just like magic the thoughts in his mind were gone, and all that was left was quietness for a few split seconds as his mind focused on the pain, until once again, the pain had subsided seconds later and the uncomfortable feelings and emotions he so desperately wanted to get rid of crept their way back up inside of him, this time at a much stronger force then previously– it seemed that they didn't like being repetitively squashed down and ignored.

Neal needed the thoughts to be gone for longer than a few seconds; he needed the pain to not subside as quickly so that he would have enough time to fall asleep without the verbal assault going on inside of his subconscious. Unsure of what had possessed him, Neal jumped out of his bed and headed straight towards his kitchen, his eyes locked onto the object that he was seeking out and with an unsure, shaky hand he reached out and grasped a hold of the handle of his kitchen knife in his right hand.

Taking a deep breath, Neal couldn't believe what it was that he was about to do, but it was as if something else had taken over his body, some outside force had taken over control, and all he could do was stand there, fixed to the spot and watch as his own actions were completed in front of him. He needed this silence in his mind and he needed it now, he needed no emotions at all threatening to overspill and flood his senses. He needed to get to sleep desperately and this was the only option that he had to make that a possibility.

That is why Neal Caffrey found himself running the blade of the knife along his skin just underneath his shoulder, next to the fencing injury he had obtained earlier; he quickly and swiftly moved the blade once, then twice, then three times until there were three neat red lines underneath his previous cut. He stared down at the four lines on his arm, unsure of what he had just done to himself and what it was that caused him to take such drastic actions, however whatever confusion he felt towards the situation at hand was immediately squashed and gone as the pain in his arm took over.

The pain wasn't too intense, it was just an annoying throbbing in his arm, but that was all that it was, just pain – physical pain only. All that his mind was focusing on and thinking about was the physical pain that was radiating in his arm. There was no shouting, no intrusive thoughts, no feelings of guilt, no self loathing, nothing except for the pulsating pain in his left arm and the warmth he felt from the blood trickling down his arm.

Unclenching his right first he dropped the knife onto the kitchen counter and finally for the first time in what seemed to have been an extremely long time, Neal felt a small smile creep across his face as for once, every single thing was silenced in the mind of Neal Caffrey.

It was pure bliss.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed. Poor Neal :/ don't forget to review and tell me what you think/like/dislike :)


	3. Running to Stand Still

Sorry this took longer than expected to post, with Christmas being in two days I've been slightly busy, but I wanted to post this chapter before Christmas :) Thanks to all the people who have reviewed, favourited and followed this! It honestly means so much, to see people actually enjoying my writing is the best gift ever. So please, please keep that up and tell me what you like/dislike about the story. Happy holidays!

* * *

**Chapter 3 – Running to Stand Still.**

_~Guilt upon the conscience, like rust upon iron, both defiles and consumes it, gnawing and creeping into it, as that does which at last eats out the very heart and substance of the metal~_

* * *

Unclenching his right fist he dropped the knife onto the kitchen counter and finally for the first time in what seemed to have been an extremely long time, Neal felt a small smile creep across his face as for once, every single thing was silenced in the mind of Neal Caffrey.

It was pure and utter bliss.

Neal stood there in the middle of his kitchen, dumbfounded as to what had just played out before his eyes. He wasn't sure what he was more confused about – why he had decided to inflict pain upon himself, or why the infliction of pain was making everything in his mind dull down for once. Neal decided that he couldn't really care less as to what the reasoning behind his actions were at the moment, and instead he just stood there, blood trickling down his arm, and let the relief wash over him.

If this had made everything stop, if this simple method made all of the negative emotions, all the guilt that he felt, all the accusations and blame that were yelled at him inside his mind – everything – just go away for such a small, simple price – then he honestly didn't care less as to the how's and why's. After a few minutes of standing there relishing in the relief the pain was giving him Neal had came to the decision that this was a price that he was willing to pay, if this is what he had to do to be able to function both physically and mentally again then this is what he would do – to get back to being the old Neal Caffrey.

The Neal Caffrey who got more than a maximum of two to three hours of sleep at night, the one who wasn't plagued with nightmares every time that he closed his eyes and assaulted with vivid and horrid hallucinations whenever he opened them, the one who hadn't taken up self loathing as a hobby and the one who didn't screw up Peter's undercover missions.

Taking in a deep breath Neal glanced up at the clock on his wall and noted that it was just around 2:30pm, he hadn't heard from Peter since he had left the office and he hoped that meant the agent didn't care too much that he had just got up and left the building without his permission. It's not like he was off doing god knows what, he was sure that as soon as Peter noticed he wasn't still in the building he would have immediately pulled his GPS data up and realized that he was at home. He was fairly certain however that the next time he saw Peter he was going to be receiving one hell of a lecture about the importance of working until he was told otherwise and that he could not just freely leave the building and head home whenever he felt the need to.

Neal decided that this was probably a good time to seize this opportunity of silence and try and get the much needed sleep he had failed to receive moments ago now that he could lay down and close his eyes without being assaulted by the voices inside of his head screaming at him. Sighing at how slightly crazy that sounded, he looked down at his arm to inspect the damage he had caused – the cuts weren't exactly deep, but then again they weren't exactly shallow either. The first one that he had inflicted was the shallowest; the hesitation in the injury was obvious as he first took the knife to his skin. The last one however was significantly less hesitant and contained more hint of a purpose – the need to cause a substantial amount of pain. The wound was still slightly bleeding also whereas the other two had stopped awhile ago.

Grabbing the dish towel from the sink in front of him he pressed the cloth against the wound and hissed slightly at the contact and breathed out through his mouth as a small amount of pain shot through his arm from the contact of the cotton against the raw skin. It only took a few more seconds of applying the pressure before the bleeding had decided to stop like the other two.

Suddenly feeling very tired he decided that he would clean everything up when he woke up; hopefully by then he would be feeling more refreshed and back to his old self. Neal placed the dish towel onto the sink, not even bothering to rinse the evidence of the events that just took place from it and headed straight towards his bed, still clothed in just his dress slacks he laid down on his bed and was pleased to note that he fell almost immediately into a deep, much needed slumber.

* * *

Neal's eyes slowly flickered open as he was awoken by the persistent banging that was coming from his front door, looking up at the clock he noticed that it was only just a little after 5pm – he had gotten roughly only two to three hours sleep which was nowhere near helpful at all. He groaned at the realization that he was still running on little to no sleep and immediately shot daggers at the door as the knocking continued and was this time combined with the yelling of his name through the door.

"Neal! Open the damn door!" The slightly irritated voice of one Agent Peter Burke echoed throughout the silence of his small room.

_Oh just great, I'm so not in the mood to receive the disobedient Neal lecture right now. _

"Yeah, hold on a minute." Neal mumbled, slowly getting out of the bed he made his way over to the door, slightly irritated also at the fact that Peter had awoken him from the only opportunity he had in the past few days of getting a decent amount of sleep. Neal half opened the door to reveal Peter's stern looking face before realization washed over him and he quickly slammed the door shut. Neal could only just imagine the look that Peter was shooting at him through the now closed door.

"Neal? What the hell, open the door!" Peter all but shouted at the young con man.

But Neal didn't open the door, because right now he desperately needed to find a shirt or one hell of an awkward conversation that he assumed neither Peter nor he would wish to partake in would happen. He quickly dashed into his wardrobe and grabbed a grey sweatshirt and chucked it over his head, grimacing slightly as the material came into contact with the events of the past few hours, ignoring the pain he hurriedly made his way back to the door and opened it to find an even angrier looking Peter Burke.

"Neal what the hell was that?!" Peter shouted at the younger man, pushing past him and into the room.

"Oh, sorry I-I didn't have a shirt." Neal blurted out before even thinking about just how ridiculous that had sounded. Peter had seen him without a shirt many times, hell, he'd seen the younger man shirtless just a few hours ago back in the men's restroom. He really was losing his wits with all this lack of sleep.

Thankfully however Peter didn't comment on that, instead just shot Neal an incredulous look. "Why did you leave today? When I told you to get out – I meant out of my office, not out of the entire building."

"Oh, sorry I thought you meant the building." Again with his crappy excuse of a lie, he was sure Peter wouldn't buy that one either. He really, _really _needed to get sleep before he ended up blurting out every single one of his most kept secrets to the agent in his sleep deprived state.

"Why would I want you to leave the building?" Confusion was evident in the agent's voice.

"Oh I don't know Peter, I just misread what you said, why did you want me to leave your office?" Neal asked, hoping to change the topic away from himself and his poor lack of judgement.

"Because Neal, it's_ my office_ and I was having a private conversation, and your presence was obviously making that man more on edge and I didn't want to deal with him physically lashing out at you." Peter explained, as if he was talking to a two year old and it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh of course, but you know that it's not my fault he got fired right?" Neal tried to make the question sound as innocent as possible when really the answer meant more to him than he would care to admit.

"Yes Neal, I know that it wasn't your fault he got fired, you could never have predicted that reaction from Pierson at your loss in the fencing tournament." Peter said, walking further into Neal's apartment.

Neal sighed in relief at that and was just about to say something before Peter cut him off.

"Neal what's this? Is this blood?" Peter asked, nodding his head in the direction of the bloodied dish cloth that Neal had left sitting on his sink.

The colour in Neal's face immediately vanished as he realized what Peter was talking about, "Oh that, yeah my injury from the fencing earlier started bleeding again, uh it's nothing really." He said, adding his best con man smile he could muster for extra measure.

"Are you sure Neal? This is an awful lot of blood, how bad is the injury? Let me take a quick look at it." Peter said advancing towards Neal.

"No! It's fine Peter." Neal said backing up, a little too quickly for his liking and judging by the look on Peter's face – too quick for his liking also.

"Neal would you stop acting like a child and let me look at your arm." The irritation in Peter's voice obvious as he reached towards the young con man's arm.

"Did you get a medical degree in the last two minutes? No. Well then I don't need your opinion on my superficial cut that is fine!" Neal all but yelled, again immediately regretting the words that fell from his lips. "Peter, I'm sorry that was harsher than it intended to be. Look I'm fine; I don't need you examining me." Neal added, hoping to ease the sting off of his first statement.

"Hey I just want a quick look to see how serious it is, that's an awful lot of blood on that cloth, and for it to still be bleeding like that it may need some stitches. Neal just let me look at it." Peter stubbornly said, still holding his ground on the matter at hand.

"Well if it needs stitches that's my decision that I will make, Peter seriously I'm old enough to examine an injury and tell how serious or not it is. This is not serious, just drop it please." The desperation in Neal's voice was obvious, this topic was not something that he wished to continue for much longer.

"Fine, but if you end up needing stitches later on, I'll be sitting there telling you I told you so." Peter said adding a small grin at the end to show that he was half joking but still half serious. Peter decided to not press the issue any further at this point, he could tell it was uncomfortable for Neal and Neal was also an incredibly stubborn man, and this was something that he seemed to intend to be stubborn about.

"Oh I'm sure you will." Neal said, tilting his head to the side and slightly smiling in return.

Neal walked past Peter and into his kitchen area where the dreaded towel was; he picked up the offending item and manoeuvred his hand so that he managed to also grab the knife in the process that was resting nearby that thankfully Peter seemed to not have noticed. He noticed that the tip of the blade was stained with crimson, and that definitely would have made for one hell of an awkward conversation between the two.

He quickly placed them both in the sink with the towel on top of the knife covering it from Peter's line of sight – he debated about washing the items but decided it would be too risky if Peter caught a glance of the knife in the process, leaving the items there for now he headed out towards his balcony in the hopes that Peter would follow suit and leave the kitchen.

It had worked; it wasn't long before Peter was now standing alongside Neal on the balcony looking out at the spectacular views of New York City. It was just after 5pm so the sun was still illuminating over the city, but also in the process of dying down and letting the night sky fall over. The way the city looked back at them was absolutely breathtaking and this view was something Neal would never take for granted.

"Considering it's only 5pm and we still have a lot of work to do now that Mr Brenner isn't going to be cooperative with us anymore, I'm going to have to ask that you come back to the office." Peter said, being the first of the two to break the silence that fell between them.

Neal inwardly groaned at that, now was not the time that he wanted to be at work, mulling over countless files to try and fix a problem that he had caused. All that he wanted was to catch up on the sleep that he seemed to forever be unable to attain, the nap he just had before Peter awoken him did nothing at all to refresh him and instead just made him even more exhausted after getting just over two hours.

"Oh. Yeah of course, I mean it's only 5pm and we're normally always at work at this hour anyway. It's no big deal, just let me go get more properly dressed and I'll be ready in five minutes." Neal plastered his fake smile across his face, and tried to hide as much disappointment from his voice as possible. It was natural to be slightly disappointed at having to go into work and read over case files, but with the small amount of sleep Neal was functioning on it wouldn't surprise him if he tried to let his true emotion into his voice it would escalate further than intended and would end with him throwing a tantrum and sitting on the ground like a three year old, refusing to move. So it was best to just act as happy about the situation as he could and not reveal the slightest hint about how he was really feeling.

"Right, I'll just be out here waiting for you." Peter said glancing over his shoulder as he watched the younger man head towards his wardrobe. Peter wasn't a fool; he noticed how oddly Neal had been acting. It surprised him greatly for Neal to not complain even the slightest about having to go back into work when he could be in his apartment painting and drinking exquisite wines or doing one hundred and one other things – instead however he acted like it didn't even bother him slightly. Peter wasn't convinced in the smallest. There was something off about the young con man and Peter was determined to find out what it was.

Neal walked into his wardrobe, grabbed a new pair of slacks, dress shirt and tie and then headed into the bathroom where he slowly took the sweatshirt off, grimacing again as it brushed against the fresh wounds. The contact from the material had caused the last cut to start bleeding slightly again, sighing heavily he rummaged through the cabinet in front of him and grabbed a square shaped bandaid that was big enough to cover the entire area and placed it over the cuts. He didn't want to take any chances and have blood seeping through his shirt at work, he was certain that if that was to happen Peter would rip his shirt off right there just to have a look at the injury that he had claimed was fine so many times. Quickly dressing himself, he attempted to comb his hair into the closest to a satisfying style as he could get and then walked back out into his living room to find Peter still standing on the balcony – thankfully. He donned a pair of socks and shoes that were near his bed and then walked out onto the balcony signalling to Peter that he was ready to go.

* * *

It was now close to six when the two men arrived back at the federal plaza. In the conference room Neal could see that Jones, Diana and three other agents were in there combing through the files on Nitrac Insurance trying to find a way to get the upper hand in the situation that was quickly falling out from underneath their feet since Jason Brenner had jumped ship and refused to cooperate any further with the bureau.

"I'm going to get myself a coffee; I'll be up in a few minutes." Neal said excusing himself from Peter and heading over towards the coffee machines – the coffee here tasted terrible, but with the amount of sleep Neal was running on he didn't really have a choice, he needed caffeine desperately. Filling up the biggest mug that he could find with the hot liquid he took a long gulp of it, grimaced at the taste, and then walked up to the conference room to join the rest of the team in their search for leverage against Pierson.

He had just sat down and placed his now almost half empty cup of coffee on the table when Jones closed one of the files and shoved it onto the table in exasperation and sighed, "Boss there's absolutely nothing here that we can use or even build from. This guy covers his tracks too well, our best shot was Brenner and now he's gone we have nothing, this is pretty much going to be a cold case." Jones said, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands together behind his head.

_Ouch. _Was all Neal could think at the mention of Jason Brenner.

"Jones I know we've been through this over and over again, but there has to be something that we-" Peter had started before being cut off by the younger con man.

"Wait! I have something, Peter I was coming in to show it to you when you were talking to Brenner, where's the list of people who are receiving money as an employee of Nitrac Insurance?" Neal asked, standing up from his seat and rummaging through the folders in front of him.

"Here, Neal we've been through this file, there's nothing." Diana said handing him the file in question.

Neal grabbed a highlighter from the table and highlighted the name Michael Holt, and then highlighted two more names further down under his, a Tomah Leich and Chitom Hale. "The first name, Michael Holt is probably the man closest to Pierson, he would have been the one to start the operation with him and he's getting the most income bonuses." Neal sounded like a boy on Christmas when he began explaining just what it was that he had found out.

"Neal how do you know this? He's getting the same amount of money as everybody else on this list, and who are the other two men and where do they fit into all of this?" Peter asked, slightly smiling to himself as he noticed the happiness in Neal's voice as he described to the team his discovery. It was good to see the younger man get some light back in his eyes since lately all they seemed was dull.

"They're Michael Holt." Neal said, sitting back in his chair, grinning. "The names are anagrams, they're fake – Pierson is sending the money as an employee to three accounts as to not attract suspicion, but really those are poor choices of names. I mean Chitom? Poor kid – anyway, all the accounts belong to Michael Holt, he's getting the biggest slice of the pie here, he has to be involved deeper in this somehow."

"Why would he choose such poor choice names if he didn't want to arise suspicions?" Diana asked, not really buying the whole anagram story that Neal was fixated on.

"Because it's his signature, like the way a person will sign a forgery. He wants them to be tied back to him, and only he can see the connection. Naming the accounts _John Smith_ doesn't really give you that same rush of power as being a wealthy business man named Chitom." Neal laughed, still unable to wipe the grin off of his face. Maybe things were starting to look up again; he had just found them a pretty big lead they could use.

"I hope you're right on this Neal. If you are, we'll need you to get in contact with Holt pretty soon and see if you can manage to get anything out of him – see if he slips up and mentions something regarding his investments and Nitrac. We'll make the meeting purely coincidental, it's not like we can't just request a meeting with him to discuss this, for all we know he is just a casual employee there. You'll have to just run into him somewhere such as a bar or a club or wherever the man frequents and we'll somehow get him interested enough in you to warrant a conversation struck up between the two of you, and then we'll see if we can get entry into the investments through Holt." Peter said, they were going out on a limb here with Neal's theory – he prayed to God that Neal was right in his suspicions about Michael Holt and that they could gain the much needed leverage that they needed on the slowly deteriorating situation.

"I'm not often wrong." Neal said leaning back in his chair, clasping his hands together in front of himself as he shot Peter a smug thousand watt grin. Neal Caffrey was in fact hardly ever wrong about anything.

"Well since we've found our new attack point, I guess that means we're done here for the night and we can all go home early." Peter said, earning sounds of approval from the rest of his team.

Neal was just about to stand up and leave with the rest of the group when a file inside of one of the folders on the table caught his attention, "Uh – I think I just want to go over a few more things here just to make sure." Neal said, adding as much innocence to his voice as possible as he reached for a stack of files on the table and made it look like he was perusing through them.

Peter just shot him a look which Neal assumed was Peter's famous _'what the hell are you up to now Caffrey'_ look, but nonetheless agreed to let Neal stay behind and look over the files that they had on Pierson. "All you are to do is go over the files, understood Neal? No funny business." Peter said, his tone serious as he shot Neal another look of suspicion and confusion and walked out of the conference room. Peter knew Neal had a motive other than just looking over the files, he was fairly certain the young con man was up to something, the man was _always _up to something – he was Neal damn Caffrey.

Once Neal was sure that everybody had left he chucked aside the file he was _reading _and reached for the folder that had initially caught his attention. The folder contained all the information on Nitrac Insurance's current employees who were involved in the investment scheme, he scanned through the folder until he found the file that he was looking for – Jason Brenner.

Quickly scanning through the file he read the location of where Brenner lived, and was pleasantly surprised to note that it was actually within his two mile radius. Shoving the file back into the folder, he placed the folder under a few others and headed out of the conference room determined to pay Jason Brenner a visit and sort out the situation and the guilt that lingered regarding the loss of the man's job.

* * *

Neal Caffrey did not get nervous, Neal Caffrey was the picture perfect example of calm. So then why all of a sudden was it hard to breathe by just staring at a house. Neal stood outside of Brenner's house, debating about whether or not this was a good idea or not. He had come this far, certain of what he wanted to discuss, but the closer he got to the address the more constricting the feeling in his chest got. Why was this man causing him so much trouble? It was just one man – one man who Neal had done absolutely nothing wrong to yet he was still feeling as guilty as hell. This one man made Neal feel like he was the worst person in the world. Oh, he definitely needed to catch up on his sleep before he became Neal Caffrey – the emotional wreck.

Taking a deep, steadying breath he pushed open the gate that stood between him and Brenner's house and walked up to the front door. It was only a little after 8pm, he assumed the man should still be awake.

_Well it's not like he has to get up early for work in the morning, right Neal? _The annoying little recurrent voice inside his head snickered at him. _I mean it's not like he has a job to go anymore. _

Biting the inside of his cheek he shook his head to clear it of the unwanted thoughts and knocked on the door. He could hear the movement inside signalling that someone was in fact awake and coming to the door. It was only a few seconds later that the door opened to reveal a slightly intoxicated looking Jason Brenner. The expression on the man's face went from confusion to boiling rage in about 0.5 seconds.

"Youuuuu." The man slurred, lazily throwing his arm in the air to point his finger at Neal accusingly. "What the hell do you think you're doing here buddy?" The anger was evident in his voice, as well as the alcohol.

"I just came to speak to you, but I can see this is a bad time so I'll just-" Neal had started to say, before he was cut off by the increasingly angry voice of Jason Brenner.

"A bad time? Oh you think this is a bad time? You fucking bet it is and there won't ever be a good time again because of you Neal Caffrey. I should have never let some stupid damn convicted felon help me. I mean now that I think about it how fucking bizarre is that?" Jason laughed sardonically.

"Mr Brenner if you would just let-" Neal attempted to get through to the man for the second time, but again was interrupted.

"No. Fuck you. I don't want your piss poor explanations." The anger was back in Jason's voice.

"Look I didn't mean to get you fired!" Neal all but shouted, anger also slowly creeping into his voice. Why couldn't the damn man believe him.

"Don't you raise your voice at me, who the hell do you think you are coming here after what you did. I don't see why the FBI even has you work for them, a god damn donkey would be more helpful. You seem like all you do there is fuck their cases up. Now get off my property." Jason yelled starting to close the door on Neal.

"No. I actually help them a lot, I never intended to get you fired, I didn't mean that." Neal said more to himself than to Jason, as he put his foot in the door stopping Jason from closing it on him. "Look I'm sorry that –" Neal had started to say but again was cut off for the third time.

"Oh you're sorry? Sorry? Where does that fucking get me! Nowhere. I am done with this and the FBI's sorry excuse of help. I don't ever want to see your face again Mr Caffrey and I don't ever plan to. I'm fairly certain that whatever you get your crummy little hands on you turn to shit. Because that's what you are, you're a person who ruins other people's lives, and that's all you ever will be. Now move your foot before this door here ends up breaking it off." Neal, shocked, complied with the request and Jason slammed the door in the bewildered Neal Caffrey's face.

Neal didn't want to admit it but the words that Brenner had just yelled at him hit a lot harder than he would ever care to admit. They basically mimicked the exact thoughts of the annoying voice inside his head, saying how he always managed to screw people's lives up and now he actually thought he was starting to believe it.

_It's because of you that Jason Brenner was fired, it was also because of your actions and stupidity that got Kate killed, if it wasn't for you she would still be alive, and oh don't forget about how you almost got Mozzie killed by getting him shot, and Ellen, well that was your fault also – _

Neal didn't know it but as soon as the thoughts had started up he had instinctively clenched his fists, knuckles turning deathly white and his nails were now sharply digging into his palms. The pain was calming, relaxing almost and it confused him as to how such a strange thing could bring about such relief.

_It must have something to do with the endorphin rush that occurs when your brain senses pain_ he thought, but that didn't make it any less strange of a thing to do to calm yourself down. Most people thought of happy thoughts, meditated even – not caused their body physical pain as a means to cope with the emotional pain. It had worked though, the thoughts had stopped and at the moment that was all that Neal cared about. Taking a deep breath he realized that he was still standing at the doorstep to Jason Brenner's. He quickly walked back towards the sidewalk, exiting the property and headed down the street, needing to get as far away as possible from that house all of a sudden.

Neal's thoughts were racing in his head, his heart was pounding a thousand miles a minute and all he could think about were all the lives that he had fucked up along the years. If he didn't know any better he was certain it seemed like he was having a panic attack – and Neal Caffrey definitely did not get panic attacks.

Before long he had managed to make his way back home, unlocking the front door he stepped inside the foyer and flicked the nearby light switch on, the light lit up the room and made Neal stop dead in his tracks as he took in the sight before him which made his face lose all traces of colour and his breath hitch in his throat.

There was blood everywhere.

There was so much blood, the floors, the walls, the furniture, everything – it was all soaked in the crimson red liquid. Neal stood there with the front door half open with his body half inside and half outside still – frozen to the spot. His face was a deathly pale shade and he was breathing through his mouth in fast, erratic attempts to get enough oxygen as he tried to control his breathing and racing heart.

There was now laughter and giggling – small children laughing. It sounded foreign to his ears, there was so much blood everywhere why were there children laughing? In the blink of an eye a small child had appeared in front of him and Neal gasped as he took in the child's appearance and how similar the kid looked to the child in his nightmare from the night before that stared back at him in the mirror's reflection.

_It was him. _

The small boy stood there, stomach and palms smeared in blood, the boy slowly lifted his head to look at Neal and a smile spread across the kid's face. "I kill everyone I meet." The small child giggled innocently before running off behind Neal and out the front door.

Neal quickly whipped his head around so that his vision could follow the boy, but by the time he had turned around the child was nowhere to be seen – he had disappeared just as quickly as he had appeared. Neal turned back around to take in the scene in front of him and was shocked to notice that everything was back to normal – the floor, walls and furniture were all back to their normal state, there was nothing there that even slightly suggested that the room was filled with blood seconds earlier.

Unsure of what the hell was happening all that Neal wanted to do was get out of the foyer; his home. It felt oddly eerie after seeing it covered in blood splatters and he wanted nothing more than to get as far away as possible from the building right now. Glancing around the room his eyes locked onto an object he was searching for and he headed straight towards the cabinet near the stairs. He grabbed the set of keys to the car that June had left when she went on her trip and quickly exited the building, locked the door and let out the breath he didn't even know that he was holding.

_I need to get out of here. _

Was all that was repeating inside of his head as he stared down at the car keys in his now shaking palm.

* * *

I hope you guys enjoyed. As I said in the first chapter, this is an extremely depressing fic - and with only minimal knowledge on psychology this might not be medically accurate in regards to the hallucinations. All I know is that after I stayed awake for 40+ hours studying my thoughts were haywire and I hallucinated - nothing drastic, it was a pelican haha. So I'm basing Neal's experiences off of that, plus coupled with the extreme guilt he's feeling I find that hallucinations can be justified. Anyway, please don't forget to review if you liked it! :)


	4. Thy Enemy is Myself

**Chapter 4 – Thy Enemy is Myself**

_~When you're a small child you fear the darkness, as to you – it is the unknown. However as you grow older, you begin to fear the darkness will be the only thing that is known to you~_

* * *

Unsure of what the hell was happening all that Neal wanted to do was get out of the foyer; his home. It felt oddly eerie after seeing it covered in blood splatters and he wanted nothing more than to get as far away as possible from the building right now. Glancing around the room his eyes locked onto an object he was searching for and he headed straight towards the cabinet near the stairs. He grabbed the set of keys to the car that June had left when she went on her trip and quickly exited the building, locked the door and let out the breath he didn't even know that he was holding.

_I need to get out of here._

Was all that was repeating inside of his head as he stared down at the car keys in his now shaking palm.

He tightly closed his palm around the cold metal object and held onto it for dear life. Neal hurriedly took off to where June's car was parked, he had no idea what he was planning to do at all once he got the vehicle onto the road. It had been _awhile_ since he had last driven a car thanks to the fact that he no longer held a _valid _license or even had a car for that matter. Right now though none of that really mattered, the only thing that mattered to Neal at the moment was getting as far away from his house as quickly as humanely possible. He didn't think that he could stand being near the building for more than a few seconds without throwing up.

Once inside the car he shoved the key into the ignition and started the engine, he was immediately greeted with the sound of the car roaring to life. Neal gripped a hold of the steering wheel in front of him and just sat there for a few moments, trying desperately to collect his thoughts and to try and understand what the hell had just happened back there, and why it felt like he was slowly, but surely losing his sanity. There was no logical way to explain what he had just witnessed, normal people did not walk into their house to be greeted with an extremely vivid hallucination of their walls painted in blood – _so much blood _– this was the second time his own eyes had betrayed him and had shown him things that weren't exactly really there.

Closing his eyes tightly he leaned his head against the steering wheel and let out a heavy sigh, the cold from the wheel felt nice pressed against his pounding head. Neal had absolutely no idea why this was happening to him and better yet how on earth he was going to deal with this. He couldn't exactly keep this facade up that everything was okay if he started hallucinating small children walking around covered in blood in the middle of Peter's office at the bureau – he'd never have a chance at convincing Peter and the others that everything was fine if he suddenly went as pale as a ghost and started having a panic attack. If this was all due to his lack of sleep then Neal knew some desperate measures were going to need to be taken to assure that he could get the much needed sleep that was required to not have to deal with these hallucinations anymore.

Still breathing heavily he slowly lifted his head off of the wheel and leaned back in the driver's seat. He had no idea at all where he was going to go – _he had nowhere to go_. He could go to Peter's but that would bring up the unwanted _are you okay _questions and more importantly _what the hell are you doing with a car_ questions and Neal didn't want to have to sit there and explain to Peter and El all of the events that had taken place in the past few days at the moment.

Also the last person that Neal wanted knowing things weren't okay in the world of Neal Caffrey was Peter Burke. He was sure that as soon as Peter got wind of the fact that he was losing his mind and unable to do the job that was needed of him for the FBI – he'd be back with a roommate in a cold, 8x6 cell, wearing those orange jumpsuits in no time for being deemed useless to the bureau as a mentally incapacitated person.

Shaking his head to clear all thoughts of the idea of prison and Peter, he looked down at the car's digital clock and noted that it was now around 9pm. There was nobody he could go to at this hour of the night beside the Burke's and he'd already scratched them off of his list. There was of course Mozzie, but Neal knew how much his friend hated dealing with situations such as this, and plus, he also didn't really want Mozzie thinking he had lost his marbles either – hell he didn't want anybody knowing he was slowly losing it. This is why Neal decided that this whole fiasco was something he was going to have to deal with by himself – and himself alone.

Realizing that the engine of the car was still running and that he was still sitting inside the car next to the house he wanted to get away from. Sighing at the fact that he had gotten himself lost in thought again and was still in the presence of the house he wanted to get away from. He pulled the seat belt across his chest and fastened it before putting the car into gear and driving out of the garage and away from the house that for once didn't feel all that safe and secure like it used to. But then again, where exactly could he go that felt safe, when the monsters that he was trying so desperately to run away from never left him. They were always there alongside of him no matter where he went or what happened – because they were inside of him, they were his own demons and no matter how hard he tried, he knew that he could never really escape from them. As the only way that he could destroy them would amount in the destruction of himself in the process.

There wasn't really anywhere he could go within his two mile radius besides doing laps around the block, and that wouldn't exactly help him as he wanted to get as far away as possible – not continuously circle around it. The stupid tracking anklet really had its moments where Neal wanted more than anything to rip the cursed thing off and smash it repetitively with a sledge hammer. Other times though he was thankful for it, because even though it was a leash that he was tethered to, it was far better than being back in prison.

But right now its short leash was really not helping the situation at hand at all.

Deciding that the best option he had that didn't end in the marshals being called and Peter being notified he was outside his radius, was to just drive around aimlessly for hours upon hours until he got tired enough to pull over and sleep in the back of the car. Instead of having to face going back to the house tonight, because honestly he didn't think he had the strength to do that anytime soon.

Another thing that he couldn't get out of his mind, but wished that he could was Jason Brenner. The man still considered him to be accountable for the loss of his job and the words that he had said in regards to that were still floating around in Neal's head, and he had a feeling that he wasn't about to forget what was said anytime soon either. Normally Neal didn't care what other people thought about him in the slightest, he didn't feel the need to please everyone, if they didn't like him then that was their opinion and their own stupid loss, but as of lately his whole game plan was off completely and he was left feeling a lot more vulnerable than usual.

He wasn't the usual Neal Caffrey – the charming, con artist who didn't let anything or anyone slightly bother him at all. Now he was the man who could hardly sleep at night, the man who was constantly on edge and who jumped at the slightest sound, and the man whose emotions were so far out of check that he would be a considered a playground for psychologists. He was now the man who let the words spoken in a drunken fit of anger affect him so greatly and cause him massive amounts of unwarranted guilt. Neal had no idea what the hell was wrong with himself lately; he had a strong feeling though that this wasn't just due to his lack of sleep – because his lack of sleep could not be blamed on his _lack of sleep. _Something was causing him to not be able to sleep, and that was something that he did not want to dwell on at all.

It was the countless nightmares that ended in him waking in the middle of the night in a fit of pure terror, the constant guilt he felt, and the thoughts that raced through his mind whenever he laid his head down to try and get to sleep at night; all of the thoughts that he was plagued with whenever he was alone. These were all things that Neal Caffrey pushed into the darkest, furthest corner of his mind and refused to acknowledge the slightest, because once you acknowledge something – it becomes real, and if it _never becomes real _–well then Neal can just go on pretending that everything is fine and that he's still the exact same man he always was.

However before his train of thought could continue down the dark path that it was heading on it was interrupted with the sound of a car horn blasting, then the sickening sound of metal scrapping against metal, and lastly the impact of the collision at the side of the car. The sudden impact caused Neal's body to jolt forward and he hissed in pain as he felt the seatbelt cut against his chest and his forehead connect with the steering wheel; the pain immediately radiated from his head from the impact against the wheel. The smell of burning rubber was suddenly assaulting his senses as he heard the other car's brakes being applied and the wheels screeching along the bitumen, it was then that he realized that he hadn't even pressed down on his own brakes in response. All he could do was watch out the shattered window as his surroundings blurred together in a collections of swirls as the car completed a 180 degree spin, and in response Neal was greeted with an intense wave of dizziness from the assault of the dancing colours.

The car finally came to a resounding halt, everything all of a sudden seemed so deathly quiet in his mind and in his surroundings, all he could hear was the sound of his own, now erratic breathing and his heart beating in his chest. However it wasn't long before suddenly the sounds of everything came back to him and it was as if someone had turned the volume up full blast; everything was ten times louder than it should have been and extremely intensified. The sounds of sirens in the distance could be heard, the sound of the car's engine dying down, and the sounds of people gathering around shouting and gasping in shock. He willed for everything to just stop and to be greeted with sounds of silence again, as the noises did wonders on his now pounding head.

Neal tried to look out the now shattered window and see what was happening, but everything suddenly became a dancing swirl of colours again as he tried to focus his eyesight, it was like a bunch of dancing rainbows assaulting his vision and he sardonically laughed to himself at the fact that this would be a much more appreciated form of hallucinations then what he usually experienced. The sounds around him were also starting to slur together and they sounded like a foreign language to his ears, nothing was making sense to him at all as he tried to work out what was happening outside the vehicle and what everyone was saying.

Suddenly feeling extremely claustrophobic trapped in the car's wreckage and not knowing what was going on he tried to move, his body immediately protested to the task and an intense wave of pain washed over his body in complaint of being moved. The most intense pain was being shot out from his head and chest, it felt as if his chest was on fire after being confined against the rough material of the seatbelt, he was sure as hell he'd have some nice bruises to show from this accident.

Neal suddenly felt a warm liquid run down the side of his face past his eye; instinctively he moved his hand towards the source, groaning as pain radiated from his shoulder from the movement. After his hand came into contact with his head he withdrew his hand to take a look at the offending liquid. The rainbow of colours was still dancing in front of his eyes; he squinted his eyes slightly to try and focus his eyesight onto his hand and it wasn't long before his eyes focused onto the ever so familiar sight of the dark red liquid – his face paled even further then what he was sure it already was at the sight of the blood on his hand. This was definitely not what he was wanting to see right now.

Brushing his hand against his forehead to momentarily stop the liquid from running into his eyes he revealed a trail of blood now along the back of his hand. He must have really smashed his head pretty hard against the steering wheel as he realized everything was still swaying in his vision and the pain was still pounding away mercilessly against his temples.

_Great the last thing I wanted to deal with tonight was a concussion. _

Trying to remember what exactly had just happened Neal was disappointed at the fact that he couldn't remember how the accident had happened or who had caused it. Was he driving in the wrong lane? Was he that distracted that he wasn't paying attention to the road? Was this his fault? Did he crash into the other car? – The other driver, was he okay? Oh god, Peter was going to be so mad at him. Hell, Peter was going to be furious at him for firstly driving a car, let alone crashing one into another car.

"Sir are you alright? We're going to get you out of there okay." The sound of the paramedic's voice broke Neal out of his reverie. It was also a welcoming relief as he realized that he could now once again fully understand the English language and everything was not slurred together.

"Yeah, yeah I'm okay." Neal forced out, his own voice however sounded foreign to his ears.

"Are you feeling pain anywhere?" The paramedic asked as he crawled into the passenger's seat. Neal was confused as to why they hadn't just opened the driver's door until for the first time he actually took in the condition the car was now in – his door was completely destroyed and was probably jammed shut.

"Uh, just a slight headache. I must have hit it during the collision. But it's nothing a little Tylenol can't fix." He sheepishly looked over at the paramedic. The last thing that Neal wanted right now was to go to a hospital and be fussed over – he knew that the moment he stepped foot inside of one and explained who he was and tried to seek medical attention Peter would be notified.

"Are you sure? You don't look like you're doing that good?" The paramedic questioned who was joined a few seconds later by another paramedic who handed him what looked to be a neck brace.

_Oh dear lord they are not putting that on me. _

"Yes I'm sure, really I'm fine, seriously just let me get up and I'll show you." Neal went to move, but a firm set of hands against his shoulder stopped him from moving too far.

"Sorry sir but we have protocol to follow and I can't just let you walk away from this scene without being observed by a medical professional. We'll need to have you taken to the ER and evaluated over there, and if they say everything's okay then you're fine to be released into your own care." The paramedic left no room for argument as he strapped the brace around Neal's neck.

"Where abouts am I by the way?" Neal innocently asked after realizing he had no idea where he had ended up at, the green light on his tracker signalled that he hadn't gotten too far. He immediately regretted asking the question though as he watched the concern flood across the paramedic's face.

"You don't know where you are?" The paramedic asked, worry clearly evident in his voice.

"Oh god I didn't mean it like that. I was just aimlessly driving around and I don't know where I ended up getting to before the accident happened, that's all." Neal didn't like the way the paramedic was staring at him, he really was doing exceptionally well at digging himself holes today.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"It's Neal Caffrey. I know my own name, birth date, home address, etcetera I'm not concussed." If Neal had to con his way out of a trip to the ER, then it looked like that's what he was going to have to do.

"Alrighty then Neal, can you tell me what the day is?" The paramedic innocently asked ignoring Neal's claims that he was indeed fine and not concussed.

"It's Thursday." Neal simply stated, bitting back a groan of irritation.

"Correct. Can you give me an estimation on the time?"

"Probably somewhere between nine and ten." _This is pathetic_ was all Neal could think.

The paramedic looked down at his watch and noted that it was a quarter to ten. "Correct."

"Well that's wonderful, does two correct answers win me $500 dollars? Do I get given the chance to keep the money or do I have to play on for the million?" Neal couldn't stop himself from sarcastically asking. He really didn't want to sit here and play 20 questions with the paramedics.

The paramedic however just kept the same, concerned expression on his face. "Okay Neal, we're going to get you out now and have you transported over to Lenox Hill's ER and have you evaluated there."

"What? No. Look I said I was fine, I answered all your stupid questions accurately." Hospitals meant paper work, paper work at a hospital meant contacting his medical power of attorney – and that meant contacting Peter Burke and that was the last thing that he wanted to do right about now.

The paramedics continued to ignore Neal's complaints as they helped remove him from the vehicle and he was then greeted with a stretcher which Neal just shot a dirty look towards, ripped the offending neck brace off and placed it onto the stretcher and walked past it, and headed over towards the awaiting ambulance. He didn't need a god damn stretcher, he was perfectly fine.

Hoping in the back of the ambulance he sat down on one of the plastic seats and was followed by one of the paramedics who sat down across from him, while the other went around the front to presumably drive the vehicle. It wasn't long before he felt the ambulance take off towards its destination. He sure was going to have one hell of a fun time explaining all of this to Peter.

"How's the other driver?" He found himself subconsciously asking, his voice echoing throughout the silent back compartment of the ambulance. _Please let them be okay, please let them be okay. _

"I'm not entirely sure; another rig took care of him. I think it was just a few scrapes and a minor concussion, probably much the same condition as what you're in. It was nothing serious; do you remember exactly what happened?" The paramedic questioned.

"Not really." Neal said followed by a sigh, he was certain that answer and his inability to remember was probably going to be used against him and added to the list of reasons the paramedics seemed to have as to why he was going to be diagnosed with a damn concussion.

"Ah, well the other guy seemed intoxicated, so he most likely was over the legal limit; I mean he was driving in the incoming traffic lane, so his insurance should cover whatever damaged happened to your vehicle also."

Neal closed his eyes and sighed in relief – the accident wasn't his fault. At least that was one less thing that Peter could be mad at him for, now it was just driving without a _valid_ license. Well, he had a license – a forged one he had made not too long after getting out of prison, but Neal knew that Peter would know it was a fake.

After sitting in silence for a few more minutes he felt the ambulance start to slow down and then come to a complete stop. He could see through the windows that they had pulled up at the Emergency Room. A few seconds later the paramedic from the front of the rig appeared and opened the doors and Neal jumped down from the back of the ambulance onto the ground. His actions caused pain to radiate through his skull from the movement, but as he usually did in all aspects of his life – he acted like everything was fine. The paramedic from inside the ambulance hopped out as well and took a hold of Neal's upper arm and tugged him slightly towards the entrance of the emergency room not wanting to take any chances with his patient dashing off.

Pain immediately shot through Neal's arm from where the paramedic had taken a hold of his arm and made contact with his earlier injury. He pulled his arm back instinctively and hissed out in pain.

"Does your arm hurt? The doctors in here will take a look at that, you may have bruised it pretty badly." The paramedic said, gesturing for Neal to continue walking with him into the ER's waiting room.

"No. No it's fine. _I am_ fine." Neal said, not exactly liking where this whole scenario was heading.

"You really are a stubborn one aren't you?" The paramedic said shaking his head.

But Neal was no longer listening to him as he entered into the ER's waiting room and his gaze immediately fell on a familiar figure standing in the waiting room – It was Peter and he was pacing back and forth, running a hand through his hair, he did not look happy the slightest bit.

Neal took a deep, reassuring breath and walked away from the paramedics and over towards where Peter was pacing about, "Peter, look I can explain –" Neal started to say before he was abruptly cut off by Peter.

"Neal?! What the hell are you doing here? Wait – are you bleeding? Are you hurt?" Peter asked, the shock and confusion was evident in his voice and worry flashed across his face.

"What am I doing here? Wait – you're not here because of me?" Neal asked, confusion arising in his voice also. If Peter wasn't here because of him, then what on earth had happened...

"No I'm not, Neal not everything is about you. I didn't even know you were coming here. Why are you here? What the hell happened to you, your head's bleeding? Are you injured? God dammit Caffrey what did you get yourself into this time?" Peter asked, concern still evident in his voice as he took in his CI's injuries. He had a nasty gash on his forehead and there was dried blood across the side of his face and splatters of blood that Peter presumed to be from his head wound across the front of his shirt also. His face looked extremely pale which caused Peter to notice just how dark the circles had gotten underneath Neal's eyes.

"Why are you here?" Neal asked, ignoring all questions regarding himself and his well being. "Are you okay? Wait is El okay? Is she hurt? Oh god what happened?"

"Yes I'm fine, El's fine also. I got a call from NYPD about an hour ago after they found my card in Jason Brenner's pocket. Turns out he was shot an hour ago and was rushed in for emergency surgery, that's all I have been told so far. Now what's wrong with you?" Peter asked, not allowing Neal to just skip out on answering his questions when it was obvious the younger man looked like he'd just been through hell and back.

"Wait what? Jason was shot! I-I was just – I mean – who shot him?" Neal couldn't believe it, he'd just been at Jason's house a few hours ago and the man was fine, slightly intoxicated, but fine nonetheless. Neal felt whatever remains of colour there were immediately drain from his face as he realized that he'd probably just missed the man being murdered by a few minutes.

_If I stuck around a bit longer I could have saved him instead of immediately fleeing the property.. _The thought flashed through his mind but he immediately squashed it down, now was not the time or the place for his damn intrusive thoughts to start running rampant. Especially not in front of Peter.

"I don't know. I don't know anything other then what I just told you. I'm suspecting that it has something to do with Pierson though, but I'm still waiting on the official report. Now for the third time what on earth are you doing here Neal? You said you were just going to go over those files for the night I can't see how that would end up in an ER visit unless you managed to give yourself one hell of a paper cut?" Peter was starting to get angry at Neal's blatantly obvious attempts at evading his questions regarding his well being.

"I-I was in a car accident." Neal sheepishly said, unable to look up and meet Peter's eyes after that confession.

"You what!? A car accident! Neal you don't even have a license let alone a god damn car! How the hell did you manage to get yourself involved in a car accident?!" Peter all but shouted at the younger man, earning a few glances in their direction from the other people waiting in the ER.

"Peter for all they know I do have a license." Neal said slyly, patting his pants pocket where his wallet was which earned him a stern look from Peter. "Also it was June's car not mine, but the accident wasn't my fault so the damage will be repaired and paid for under the other driver's insurance.."

"Neal you –" Peter had started to say before he was interrupted by a doctor approaching them.

"Ah Mr Caffrey? Hi, I'm Dr Ross and I'll be examining you today if you could come over to this cubicle we can get this whole thing over and done with as quickly as possible as I'm aware that you don't wish to be here." Dr Ross said, adding a smile to his face and gesturing the young man away from Peter and towards said cubicle. Neal had only just turned around to walk away with Dr Ross as he heard a man approach Peter.

"Agent Burke? I'm Dr Wilcox and I was Jason Brenner's trauma surgeon, unfortunately the bullet had caused too much intracranial bleeding, and although we exhausted all of our capabilities trying to save him unfortunately we were unsuccessful and he did not make it." The surgeon said, before walking back into the room he had just appeared from.

Neal felt as if someone had just ploughed into him with a car – _again _– Jason was dead and he had probably spent the last few moments of his life yelling at the man who he blamed for ruining everything. Neal suddenly felt hot all of a sudden, and extremely nauseous as he felt the room begin to tip on him. It wasn't until he heard the sounds of a NYPD officer approaching Peter that he really felt his world do a complete 360.

"Agent Burke, as I am aware Dr Wilcox just told you that Jason Brenner was pronounced dead, we've also came to the conclusion that the man was deeply troubled as large trace amounts of alcohol were found in his system, and his death has been subsequently ruled as a suicide due to outstanding evidence suggesting so."

"What!" Neal all but shouted, causing all of the other occupants in the room to glance up at him as he spun around away from Dr Ross and faced Peter and the NYPD officer. "Suicide?!" was all that Neal could manage to get out as he felt the floor underneath him cave in, the blackness creeping in at his vision and the distant sound of Peter screaming his name was the last thing that he was aware of as his knees buckled underneath him and he felt himself collapse to the floor and lose consciousness almost immediately.

"Neal!" Peter shouted running towards his CI who was now lying in an unconscious heap on the ground. He kneeled down on the ground beside Neal's limp form. "Neal! Hey wake up!" Peter shouted at the younger man, but Neal remained unresponsive.


	5. Art of Breaking

**WARNING**: This chapter contains slightly more, for a lack of a better word - _disturbing _content then that of the previous ones. It does get quite dark/angsty towards the ending. Please read at your own discretion.

This chapter was extremely hard to write towards the ending and it got me thinking if I should continue this story, if it was hard for me to write I'm wondering if people can stand to read this fic. I'm not exactly sure how much "angst" people like, but this story gets a lot darker before it gets better, as I have a lot of different things install for this fic, this is only chapter 5 and I have at least 15 more chapters planned, and with each of my chapters being roughly around 5000-6000 words, I have a lot more things to come - that is if anybody wants to continue reading.

* * *

**Chapter 5 – Art of Breaking**

_~When the day has come that I've lost my way around, and the seasons stop and hide beneath the ground. When the sky turns grey and everything is screaming; I will reach inside just to find my heart is beating. You tell me to hold on, oh you tell me to hold on, but innocence is gone, and what was right is wrong. I'm bleeding out, I bare my skin, and I count my sins, and I close my eyes, and I take it in, oh I'm bleeding out~_

* * *

"Neal!" Peter shouted running towards his CI who was now lying in an unconscious heap on the ground, he knelt down on the ground beside Neal's limp form. "Neal! Hey wake up!" Peter shouted at the younger man, but Neal remained unresponsive.

"I'm going to need a backboard and a gurney over here right now!" Dr Ross shouted as he knelt down beside his now unconscious patient; he placed two fingers underneath Neal's jaw and felt for his pulse. "Pulse is weak and thready." The doctor said addressing the nurses and other ER residents that had rushed over at the sight of the unconscious man lying on the ER's waiting room floor.

Moments later they were greeted with more ER staff with a gurney and backboard; it wasn't long before they had gotten Neal situated onto the board and lifted up onto the awaiting gurney. "Right, uh let's take him into resus bay one. He's not in the need for resuscitation at the moment but I don't want to take any chances." Dr Ross shouted taking control over the situation at hand. They had just rolled the gurney into the resus - trauma room as Dr Ross had requested and placed a pulse ox onto Neal's finger when he began to stir.

The light above him was blinding and it took a few moments before he could begin to take in his surroundings, once his vision had returned to him he was immediately displeased to notice that he was laying on a gurney in the middle of what looked to be some examination room. The next thing that he noticed was Dr Ross and a crowd of other people dressed in scrubs all around him attaching various cords to his body.

"S-stop." Neal weakly said while trying to push away the hands that were hovering around his body. He removed the device from his finger and proceeded to sit himself up. Neal immediately realized how much of a bad idea that was when his entire world flipped upside down as he tried his hardest to stay upright – it felt as if his head was tied to a thousand bricks that were dangling over the edge of the gurney, it felt as if there was an invisible force tugging his head back down and he wanted nothing but to comply with that and lay back down and sleep for an eternity – but he didn't though. Right now he couldn't afford to show any weakness to Peter as that would not work well in his favour if he wanted any chance at convincing the older man that he was indeed fine and that everything was in fact alright.

Bitting down on his bottom lip to keep back a groan Neal swung his legs off to the side of the gurney and attempted to stand up. The movement caused the pounding in his head to return at a horrific force and the dizziness crept back up on him causing everything in his line of vision to once again swirl together. Neal shut his eyes together as tightly as he could, placed a hand out in front of him onto the gurney to steady himself and willed for all of this to just go away.

"Neal – Neal hey listen to me, listen to the doctors here. You need to just lie back down and get yourself checked out; you obviously are suffering from a concussion." The worry was clearly evident in Peter's voice as he placed his hand on Neal's shoulder and tried to lightly push the younger man back down onto the gurney. He felt Neal's body tense as he tried to remain standing and fight back against Peter's efforts to lie him down. "Caffrey don't be so damn stubborn all the time and lie back down, you need medical attention." Peter added a bit more pressure to his push this time and managed to get Neal half laying back onto the gurney.

"I'm fine." Neal said slowly, he knew that Peter wasn't going to believe him, hell – Neal didn't even believe the words himself. "Look I just want to go home. I don't need to be here." Neal once again sat upright and earned himself a disapproving look from Peter.

"I'm sorry Mr Caffrey but you're not exactly what I'd diagnosis as fine. You just passed out unconscious on my ER's floor and I'm sorry but I cannot go against my better judgement and just let you walk out of those doors, you could have something seriously wrong with you ranging anywhere from a concussion to an intracranial bleed from the impact. I really cannot discharge you." Dr Ross said observing the man in front of him; he really was a stubborn one who was adamant about not getting any medical attention.

"No." Neal firmly said, pushing Peter's hands away from him, he managed to stand himself up again. "If you won't discharge me then I am going to sign myself out of here AMA. If you or anyone else has a problem with that then you can feel free to call yourself a lawyer, but right now I'm leaving and nobody is stopping me from doing so." With that he pushed past a stern looking Peter Burke and headed out of the trauma room and into the hallway, he could practically feel Peter's gaze burning into the back of his head as he walked away.

"Neal! What the hell!" Peter shouted following after the ex-con. "You're obviously injured why won't you get yourself checked out? There's just a few simple tests Neal, it'll take a few minutes." Peter all but shouted at him causing Neal to grimace at the unusually loud level of Peter's voice which did wonders on his headache.

"Peter I just want to go home and go to sleep. Honestly I am fine, I've been through worse, and this is nothing that I can't handle by myself that needs to be checked out by doctors." Neal said fishing into his pocket and retrieving his cell phone. He called a cab company, signalling to Peter that this conversation was well over.

After hanging up the phone Neal walked over to the admit desk and grabbed the forms that he needed to sign to say that he was going to leave on his own accord, against all medical advice. He signed his name on the dotted line, trying to ignore the fact that it kept moving, and handed the form back to the receptionist.

"Neal I could have dropped you home." Peter said once Neal had walked back over to where he was standing.

"Oh it's fine. I don't want you to have to go out of your way. You should be getting home by now anyway, El's probably worried about what's happening."All Neal honestly wanted to do right now was be alone and sitting in the car with Peter in a tense, awkward silence was not high on his list of things to do right now – or ever.

Peter couldn't help but feel a nagging feeling creeping up inside him, insisting that he should take Neal home anyway. Something was telling him that he should even take Neal back to his own house for the night and not leave the man alone right now. There was something that just felt off altogether and Peter didn't like it one bit, but unable to place what exactly it was that was concerning him he shook the nagging feeling aside. Neal was a grown man and he could take care of himself and if he wanted to go home and spend the rest of the evening by himself and be left alone to his own devices then he was free to make that choice.

"Alright then, I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning at work to go over the final details about Michael Holt. That is of course if you're feeling okay in the morning. Peter said, silently studying Neal.

"Yeah sure, I'll see you tomorrow Peter." Neal said walking out of the ER to wait outside for the cab to come and collect him. Right now he was mentally kicking himself at the events that had just transpired – all he had wanted to do was get away from his damn house for the night, and now he was headed right back there in worse shape than what he was in when he left – plus he now had a suspicious Peter.

His head was still pounding away mercilessly, he was fairly certain that he did in fact have a concussion and should have probably gotten himself checked out, but all he wanted to do right now was to go home and sleep and forget about all of the events that had taken place in the last few hours.

* * *

The cab pulled up out the front of his house after what felt like hours but was in fact only a matter of minutes. He handed the driver the amount of money that was due and hopped out of the car. Neal stood there on the side of the road and stared up at the house that he had labelled as his home for years. By now the cab had driven away and there was nobody out on the streets. Neal stood there, on the sidewalk out the front of his house looking up at the empty building and realized just how completely and utterly alone he truly was.

With June away and all of the staff gone home for the night all of the lights in the building were turned off. It was dark, covered in shadows and completely alone inside there. Once he entered the building he'd be all alone, just by himself – in the solitude that he thought he so desperately wanted and craved. Now however he wasn't so sure about that, although he had wanted to be alone a few moments earlier back at the hospital a small part inside of him had maybe wanted Peter to insist that he shouldn't be alone right now.

He didn't want to be alone right now.

A small part of him had wanted Peter to force him to open up right then and there and explain just what exactly was happening in his life and why he was driving around illegally in the first place. Maybe he wanted Peter to tell him that he wasn't such an amazing con man and that he saw through all of his games and his stupid facades and that he knew that something was desperately wrong with the younger man. Maybe for once he just wanted someone to show an interest in his well being, maybe he was getting tired of pretending day after day, maybe he wanted somebody to notice that everything wasn't going as okay as he wanted them to think and that it was all just an elaborate act that he was pulling. Maybe, just maybe, for once Neal Caffrey needed someone else's help but was too damn stubborn to admit it. Or maybe he just wanted someone to actually care about him for once – and maybe he wanted that person to be Peter Burke.

Neal wanted there to be someone that he could rely on, someone that he could trust with his deepest, darkest secrets. He wanted someone that he could call up in the middle of the night, no matter what the time was, when he was awoken in pure terror from the countless nightmares that he had, he wanted someone to tell him that none of it was real and that nothing was his fault. He needed more than ever to feel like someone actually wanted him here – _needed him here, _because he was starting to head down the thought process that if nobody needed him, if nobody actually needed him to be here – then why was he? Why did he bother continuously wasting everybody's time by just screwing around, fucking people's lives up daily and wasting oxygen. If nobody really cared that he woke up in the morning – then why exactly did he make the effort to?

Even though all throughout his life he had gotten by being alone, depending on himself for years and years had caused him to actually like being alone. Because when you started depending on other people, started needing other people in your life – you became weak; and Neal Caffrey was anything but weak. Except right now something told him that he wouldn't be able to keep going through these day to day motions, acting like everything was just wonderful throughout the day and then coming home and breaking down by himself.

He just couldn't keep falling down again and again, and then expecting himself to be able to pick up the pieces. He was certain that the time he fell down and got too far down that he couldn't possibly get himself back up was steadily approaching. Neal hated more than anything to admit it, he detested the idea greatly – but he was going to need someone's help before things got too far out of control that they couldn't be fixed.

Realizing that he was still standing outside his house, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Opening them a few moments later he started walking towards the front door of the house, he unlocked it and stepped inside, leaned his back against the now closed door and let out the breath that he wasn't even aware he was holding. He immediately scanned the area in front of him, taking in his surroundings he was pleased to note that everything was just how it should be – there were no walls painted with blood, no creepy laughing and no small, blood splattered children running around. For some reason though that fact didn't even make his mood slightly better as he had expected it to have.

Not wanting to ponder on the fact he headed upstairs to his room, unlocked the door and headed straight towards his bathroom to take in his appearance and observe just how much damage the crash had caused. Once inside the bathroom he looked in the mirror and grimaced at the reflection staring back at him. The left side of his face was slightly bruised and was starting to turn a shade between purple and blue. He had a small cut above his left eye which had been the source of the earlier bleeding; there was a faint trail of blood also smudged across his forehead from where he had wiped at the blood to stop it from trickling down his face. He also noticed how pale his face was, how prominent his cheek bones were becoming, and the dark circles under his eyes were also becoming more and more defined as the days went by and his lack of sleep increased.

Neal dragged his gaze from his reflection and unbuttoned his dress shirt and slipped the material off of his shoulders and let the garment fall to the floor as he stared back up at his reflection in the mirror once again and took in the blue and purple blotches that danced across his chest from where the seat belt had been. Without even noticing it his gaze had gone from examining the bruises to watching his chest rise and fall with each breath that his lungs took in, he wasn't surprised to notice just how easily it was to see the outline of his ribcage with each breath. He really had lost a large sum of weight over the past few weeks from not eating, actually now that he had thought about it he hadn't even eaten anything today at all in between everything that had transpired throughout the day. It didn't surprise him though when he realized that he hadn't even felt slightly hungry despite not consuming anything at all in over 24 hours.

He didn't feel anything actually. Anything at all.

Except for the persistent pounding against his skull, the slight stinging from the cut above his eye, the pain across his face from where the bruises now lay and the pain in his chest from where the seat belt had rubbed. That was all physical pain however, and that was all that Neal felt at the moment. His emotions were usually haywire, but right now they were gone – he didn't feel the usual guilt, sadness, anger, regret – nothing.

Neal Caffrey felt emotionally numb and completely empty.

He did not like whatever it was that he was experiencing the slightest. The emotional numbness only lasted for a few more moments however before it was replaced by a painfully tightening, constricting feeling in his chest. It felt as if someone had somehow placed their hand through his chest and grabbed a hold of his heart and ruthlessly gripped onto it; and was squeezing the very life out of it. It wasn't long though before the constricting feeling was coupled with a warm sensation running down his cheeks, startled at the sudden sensation he brought his gaze back up to the mirror that was in front of him and was shocked to see that his face in the reflection was now stained with tears – he was crying.

This was something that he hadn't let himself do in ages, after Ellen's death he had allowed himself to cry for the first few days before he made himself stop wallowing in his own misery and buried all emotions related to Ellen in the deep, darkest corners of his mind. He hadn't expected to cry for a long while, because when Neal Caffrey wanted something buried – it usually stayed buried. This was something that he swore he wouldn't find himself doing anytime soon, this was something that he detested doing, Neal did not partake in crying or letting his true emotions show. Crying easily gave away just how you were truly feeling and it was something Neal regarded as a sign of weakness; a sign that you just weren't strong enough.

But yet here he was standing in the middle of his bathroom, covered in bruises and dried blood, staring at his own reflection crying uncontrollably. The racing thoughts were back once again, rushing around inside his head, but this time Neal couldn't even begin to understand what it was that they were saying. It felt as if everything was short-circuiting and all that he could do in response was cry even harder and stare at his damn reflection in the mirror in front of him – he was such a ghost of the man he used to be, he didn't even recognize the man that was standing in front of him staring back at him through the glass anymore.

Neal didn't know what it was that had possessed him, but before he knew what he was doing his right fist had swiftly gone out in front of him and his ears were greeted with the harsh sound of glass shattering and falling onto the tiled bench top as his fist collided with the glass in front of him. The pain immediately shot through his knuckles as the shards of glass dug into his skin at the contact, he felt the familiar warm liquid run down his palm and down his wrist as he pulled his arm away from the mirror in shock at what had just happened.

Tears still streaming down his face, unable to stop the sobs from wracking his body he just stood there completely in shock at what had just taken place. There was no doubt about it anymore – he was losing it. Thoughts and ideas that Neal did not want to think about kept swirling around in his mind, taunting him, beckoning him to listen to them and carry them out. They were yelling at him, shouting at him, explaining to him over and over that he was nothing – a nobody – just a useless tool to the FBI.

_Oh Neal, you're not even considered a person to them, you're just another tool in the shed that they go and fish out when it's convenient to them and once all you're good for has been used up, you'll get chucked aside and thrown back in prison. Nobody cares about what happens to a broken, useless tool. Nobody ever needs a broken tool, there's no use for it – it's worthless. If it cannot complete the task it's required to do it gets thrown out with the trash and destroyed. Much the same as you will, except people would be glad to throw you out. You're like one of those tools that malfunction and don't do what they're meant to do, you're like a malfunctioning nail gun that just shoots nails randomly, and keeps on hitting people, and hurting them. You're a dangerous tool that needs to be destroyed before more innocent people get hurt trying to handle you. People would be so much better off without you Neal; everyone would be so much safer if you just didn't exist. _

Before Neal even understood what he was doing he had reached out with his shaking, bloodied hand and grabbed a hold of his shaving razor and smashed the item against the basin in front of him repetitively until the shards of plastic had chipped off and all that was left lying there was the shiny piece of metal staring back up at him from the bench top. He grabbed a hold of the taunting piece of metal and ripped off the bandage that he had just earlier applied to his arm, he clenched his eyes tightly shut and allowed himself to release all the pent up emotions he had tried so hard to hold at bay. The anger, the guilt, the pain, the sorrow, the regret – everything that he had spent so long burying came crashing down over him, it was like a tsunami washing over him, drowning him out at sea, starving him of oxygen. It felt as if he was being suffocated alive as he finally acknowledged every single emotion that he had spent so long holding back, forcing into the dark corners of his mind, and refusing to acknowledge or except ever existed.

Neal didn't notice his legs give out underneath him until he felt his back slide down against the wall and he realized that he was now sitting on his bathroom floor, still crying uncontrollably as everything washed over him. The guilt of every single thing that he had done in his life, the pain that he had refused to ever accept that he was feeling, the sorrow that he tried so hard to push aside and ignore. There was too much that he had buried, and now it was swallowing him alive. Neal was not even close enough to being in a stable enough mind frame to cope with the amount of emotions that he felt washing over him; this was way too much for him to even try to deal with right now.

He dropped the blade from the shaving razor onto the floor and looked down at his arm to see what he had subconsciously done during his emotional breakdown. He was surprised to note that he couldn't even begin to see what amount of damage he had caused as all that his eyes could see was blood – there was so much blood. Neal was sure he could drown himself in it all. His entire upper forearm was covered in the crimson liquid and it was streaking its way down his arm, to his wrist and dropping onto the floor next to him. He closed his eyes tightly and tried his hardest to focus his mind on the physical pain that he was feeling, and not the tidal wave of emotions threatening to consume him.

He focused on the pain in his arm, it felt as if it had been set on fire after the damage Neal had just inflicted upon it. He focused as hard as he could onto that sensation and willed the thoughts and the emotions to stop and to leave him alone. Pulling his knees into his chest he buried his face into his knees, he felt the wetness from his face through his pants as he realized he was still in fact crying.

There was blood running down his right arm and onto the floor beside him from where he had smashed his fist into the mirror, there was also blood profusely running down from his upper left forearm from the events that had just transpired moments earlier in his fit of absolute pure and utter agony.

Neal sat there on his bathroom floor, huddled into a ball, his arms wrapped around his knees, staining the material of his pants from the blood that was still running down them. He was surrounded in shards of broken glass, and droplets and pools of blood, the tears were still streaming down his face as his body shook with every cry, his breathing was erratic and his heart felt as if it was going to jump out of his chest and onto the cold, tiled floor in front of him. Neal sat like this for what felt like hours, but was really only a matter of minutes until the exhaustion began to consume his body.

_Is this how I made Jason Brenner spend his last few moments before he took his own life? _

Was the last thing that coursed through Neal's mind before he finally succumbed into the darkness and into the deep sleep that he had been trying so desperately to seek out for days upon days – Neal just never imagined that he would attain it like this; crying and bleeding on his bathroom floor.

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After this chapter, your thoughts and feelings in a review are extremely, _extremely _appreciated and needed. Thank you.


	6. Hazard Signs

**A/N:** Firstly sorry that I took like a thousand and a half years to update this! I really promise to get back into updating more often soon. This first month of 2013 has been absolute non-stop chaos. I just got my university acceptance letter - I got into law and psychology! Woo to double degrees. Although studying both a law degree and a psychology degree may make it harder for me to find time to update. But I'll try my hardest! Anyway, the university course starts in three weeks and I only got my letter last week, so I have four weeks to move into a new house that's two hours away. I've been so busy signing leases, rental applications, buying furniture, textbooks, just moving in general to update.

But you can all thank this update on the user **Cthulucy **- who reminded me of this story, twice, after my prolonged absence. Honestly guys I love when you do that, when you show that interest in my work to take the time to pester me if I am not updating. Feel free! Please. :) As you can see, your reviews and messages are what got this chapter uploaded. It's also longer than usual, around the 9000 word mark, when it's normally 5000/6000. I thought I'd be more generous than usual haha.

ALSO. This chapter, the content involved is for the purpose of the story, and also as an educational purpose for you readers, in-case any of you don't understand the medical mishaps that are happening and the psychological impacts and whatnot. I included actual factual data into this. So I'm hoping this helps some of you get a better grasp on things if you didn't already understand fully what is happening inside Neal's head in regards to the emotional side.

Please, read and review, as per usual, I love knowing what you like/dislike - and want to see next! I have a set chapter plan, so this story will get finished, as I have it all planned as to what happens per each chapter, but I am open to suggestions in the reviews. I'm open to any new ideas that you guys want to pitch at me. So remember, please review!

- Again, sorry that this took like a month to get updated! That won't happen again! :) x.

* * *

**Chapter 6 – Hazard Signs**

_~The single biggest problem with communication is the illusion that it has actually taken place~_

* * *

The first thing that Neal became painfully aware of as he aroused from his unconscious state was the annoying shrilling noise that was coming from the device inside his pants pocket, the sudden high pitched noise made his head pound ruthlessly. The second thing that he noticed was that it was now some time in the morning since there were rays of sunlight streaming across the tiled floor in front of him from the window next to his shower – _his shower_ – his bathroom; and that was the third thing that Neal became aware of. He was sitting on the floor, awkwardly slumped against his bathroom wall curled into some ball formation.

_Did I sleep like this all night? _

The thought flashed through his mind, but before he could process any more information regarding the events that had transpired last night the shrilling noise from his phone interrupted his train of thought. Neal hadn't even noticed that the phone had stopped ringing, until the ungodly noise started itself back up again.

Sighing, he slowly arched his back forward so that he could manoeuvre his arm behind him to pull the phone out of his pants pocket. Although once he moved his arm into his direct line of sight he immediately stopped dead in his tracks at the sight that was presented in front of him. His right arm was patterned in criss-crossing streaks of dried blood all the way to his elbow that had streamed down from the top of his hand – from his knuckles; which were also covered in dried blood and slightly bruised.

_What the actual hell happened last night? _

Neal pushed the thoughts aside for the moment as he removed the offending shrieking object from his pocket and looked down at his caller ID, his eyes squinting at the sudden light – Peter's name stared back up at him from the brightly lit screen. Glancing at the time on his phone he noticed that it was just slightly after 10:30am. This wasn't good at all; Neal quickly answered the phone before it had a chance to go to voicemail again.

"Peter –" Neal began, pausing momentarily and taking a deep breath, his voice sounded a lot hoarser than what he would have liked as he answered Peter's call. Neal suddenly became quite thirsty as he realized just how dry his throat actually was, it seemed he was slightly dehydrated, although Neal couldn't imagine why that was at this point, he licked his lips and was about to try and speak again.

"Neal? God dammit Caffrey! I've been trying to get a hold of you for the past two hours. I was just about to drive over there myself and kick your door down and face the full wrath of June. Do you have any idea what time it is and what time you are meant to get your ass in here to start work? You were meant to be here over two hours ago Neal! If you didn't feel up to coming in today I told you that was fine, but the least that you could have done was called ahead and notified me that you wouldn't be coming in today." Peter took a deep breath before continuing. "Are you okay?" The agent asked, his voice becoming a lot softer as he managed to stop himself from chastising Neal any further over the phone. The anger that was present in his voice had subsided and was replaced with concern as he asked the younger man the last question.

Neal swallowed hard before replying in an attempt to wet the back of his throat as to make his voice sound at least a little bit more like how it usually did and not as hoarse as it previously was. "I'm fine Peter, I must have just overslept. I'll be there in about 20 minutes." He paused. "I'm sorry." His voice not exactly how he would have liked it to have sounded, but it was still a significant improvement from his earlier attempt.

"You overslept?" Peter asked slowly, as if he had misunderstood the ex-con's words altogether.

"Yeah, sorry, after I got home last night I must have forgotten to set an alarm to wake me up and instead just went straight to sleep." Neal practically mumbled into the phone, still not trusting his own voice.

The statement wasn't exactly a lie; Neal had forgotten to set his alarm thanks to the events of last night – not that it would have really mattered that much as he wouldn't have exactly heard the alarm that effectively lying on his bathroom floor. That was something Peter didn't need to know however.

"Right, okay, right." Peter mumbled, mimicking Neal's previous tone, before his voice took on that tone of authority that it usually was laced with. "Are you sure that you're well enough to come into work today? Neal you know that you don't have to come in if you're not feeling one hundred percent. I said that you could have today off, and I'll understand perfectly if you want to stay at home and rest."

"Peter; I am fine." Neal said slowly, drawing the words out and putting emphasis on them.

Those last three words that Neal uttered were the furthest thing from the truth and Neal knew it, he just hoped and prayed to god that Peter would believe the words even if Neal himself didn't. Even though the art of conning someone into believing something required a large amount of belief and faith in your own words and actions, you yourself had to believe what you were trying to get another person to believe. If your words lacked your own belief in them, then there was no way another person could believe them. If Neal Caffrey, one of the world's best con-men, couldn't even begin to convince himself of his own words – then what chance would he have in getting Peter to believe them?

"Alright Neal, if you're sure you're up to coming in. I'll swing by your place and pick you up in 20 minutes. Is that enough time for you to get ready?" Neal swore to himself that he could hear the disbelief screaming at him through Peter's words, but he pushed that aside, Peter couldn't see through him that easily could he?

No he couldn't. Because Neal was fine, one hundred percent fine, and Peter would believe that.

"Yeah that's enough time. I'll see you shortly." Neal said hanging up the phone and ending the conversation.

If Peter was really beginning to start to see through all of his lies and his carefully placed facade, just how long would it be until the inevitable happened and everything that Neal had built structured on top of lies upon lies came crashing down upon him. How much longer was it until Peter saw through every single thing and realized just how insane things had become lately for Neal and how every single _I'm fine _was a complete and utter lie?

Deciding that now probably wasn't the best time to sit and think about these things, Neal realized that he should probably get up off of the floor and start to get ready for work as to not leave Peer waiting any longer than what he already had been for him. Neal stood up slowly from his position on the ground, his back protesting after being confined in such an awkward position for so long, however before Neal could move any further he was once again stopped dead in his tracks as he finally took in the scene that was in front of him.

As he glanced around the room and surveyed what was in front of him, his mind was flooded with the memories of what exactly had occurred last night. It looked as if the inevitable had already happened, and everything that he had built based on lies and false reassurances had come crashing down upon him.

_Fuck. _

There was shattered glass lying in front of him on the ground, and pieces also lay scattered on top of the sink basin, the mirror looked like a spider web as the cracks formed rings around the gaping hole in the middle. There was a small amount of blood smudged around the area where Neal assumed his fist had connected with the glass, and as a result of that there were also some droplets of blood along the basin and a few lone ones on the floor – there was also a hell of a lot more droplets of blood to the left of where he was standing, and alongside of them there also lay a lone piece of discarded metal.

Realization suddenly hit Neal like a freight train; he slowly raised his left arm in front of his face and noticed that it also was covered in streaks upon streaks of dried blood much the same as his right arm – although there was a significantly larger amount of blood laced around his left arm. He dragged his gaze along the tracks of blood on his arm up until he reached his upper forearm and was shocked to see the countless, vicious criss-crossed red lines that stared back up at him through more patches of dried blood along his skin.

_Why did I do this ... ? _

Neal felt himself pale considerably as he remembered the emotional breakdown that he had experienced last night, everything that he had spent the past few years burying had just washed over him in one gigantic wave and he must have subconsciously tried to deal with the overpowering emotions in the only way that he recently knew how to. He, however, did not like the fact that he had carried out the actions without exactly realizing what it was that he was doing, and how much damage he was actually causing. Neal would never have rationally inflicted so much damage in such a vicious and unorganized fashion.

Not wanting to think about the events that took place last night any longer, he headed straight towards his shower with one goal in mind; to wash away any evidence that last night had even taken place. Neal removed the few remaining garments of clothing he had on and stepped inside the shower letting the scalding hot water wash over his body, the hot water stung as it came into contact with his bruised knuckles and forearm as the water began to wash away the dried blood. Neal stood there motionless; head leaned forward against the tiled shower wall, just watching the crimson tinted water run down the drain as the water poured over him.

After a few moments later Neal stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and shook the excess water from his locks of hair. He instinctively glanced into the mirror to see how his hair had fallen, but was reminded immediately that it no longer functioned as it should. Neal shot a downward glance to his bathroom floor and sighed, he wouldn't even begin to have enough time to clean all of this mess up before Peter came to pick him up shortly for work. He grabbed a comb, some hair gel, some toothpaste, his toothbrush and some adhesive bandages and stepped outside of the bathroom shutting the door behind him and on the memories of last night. He decided that he'd have to clean it up once he got home from work; he just hoped to god that Mozzie wouldn't feel like greeting him with a spontaneous visit and have the sudden urge to use his bathroom while he was at work – that conversation could get awkward.

Neal placed the newly acquired comb, hair gel, toothbrush and toothpaste on his kitchen bench and walked off towards the location of his wardrobe, bandages still in tow. Once inside he quickly began dressing himself for work, placing the bandages over his injured forearm he then draping his dress shirt across his shoulders. His entire forearm hurt with every slight movement that he made and Neal mentally kicked himself for the thousandth time for being so stupid and impulsive last night, and going extremely overboard with the whole self loathing pity party. Once he was dressed in his usual attire, he headed back into his kitchen, once again forgoing breakfast as per usual. He brushed his teeth over the sink in the kitchen and then combed and styled his hair into his usual fashion in front of the small mirror in his bedroom.

It wasn't long after he had just made the finishing touches onto his hairdo that there was a knock on his front door signalling to him that Peter had arrived. Neal looked himself over quickly in the full length mirror and wasn't even remotely satisfied with the image that was staring back at him. His face was extremely pale, more so than usual after what had happened last night, the bruises had now turned a palish blue colour and they did a wonderful job at highlighting the paleness that Neal's blue eyes had became. The cut above his eye was minor, but it had developed some slight bruising around it also which didn't help compliment his features. He looked down at his injured right hand and wasn't surprised to notice the now more vivid colour of the bruising on the knuckles and the slight scrapes once the dried blood had been removed.

"Neal! Hey you ready to go?" Peter's voice broke though the silence of the room, effectively snapping Neal out of his own thoughts.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm coming." Neal was at the door in seconds; he opened it and quickly stepped outside shutting it behind him which earned him a glance from Peter. He really didn't want to take any chances with allowing Peter inside of his apartment at the moment. "Alright let's get going." Neal said walking past Peter and down the flight of stairs to the front door.

Peter however didn't immediately follow after the ex-con, and instead chose to stand at the top of the stairs for a few moments longer and watch Neal closely before following after him. Once Peter had reached the bottom of the stairs Neal was already waiting at the front door, but before he could continue outside Peter grabbed a hold of his wrist and turned Neal around to face him.

"What happened to your hand?" Peter calmly asked, nodding his head in the direction of Neal's right hand which Peter had raised to just in front of his chest.

"Oh I must have hit it in the accident last night." Neal said, voice void of any hint of emotion.

"It wasn't like that last night at the hospital." Peter drawled.

"It must have formed this morning then." Neal said, pulling his hand out of Peter's grasp, voice once again stone cold and expressionless.

"Neal..." Peter began before he was abruptly cut off.

"Are we going to work or what?" The ex-con said with the slightest hint of irritation before turning away and walking straight out the front door and down the street towards Peter's parked car.

Peter was once again left standing there, staring after the retreating form of Neal Caffrey. There definitely was something going on here and Peter was damned if he wasn't going to get to the bottom of it all. He decided that he wouldn't press the issue any further at the current moment and followed after Neal. Peter however did silently agree to himself that he would keep an extremely close eye on the ex-con today to see if he could uncover even the smallest clue as to what exactly was going on in the younger man's life.

It wasn't long before Peter had also arrived at his parked car that Neal was now impatiently standing beside. Peter caught a glimpse of Neal's expression and noticed that he seemed to be clenching his jaw tightly and what looked to be annoyance and _something else_ lingered in Neal's eyes - he actually seemed to be more annoyed than Peter thought he would have been at what he thought was a harmless question about the bruises and scrapes on Neal's knuckles. Peter mentally made a note of this unusual reaction as he unlocked the car and they both silently hopped inside the Taurus.

The car ride to the office was painfully silent, with neither one of them wanting to be the first to break the silence and speak. Neal obviously was still in an irritated state over Peter's trivial question, and seemed to be refusing to acknowledge Peter's presence in the car. Neal's behaviour reminded Peter of a three year old child who was told that they couldn't get the toy that they wanted at the store and now planned to give the silent treatment as punishment. Peter also didn't want to break the silence as he didn't have the slightest clue on what to talk to his CI about besides some idle chit chat, and judging by the mood that Neal seemed to currently be in he knew that probably wasn't exactly what Neal wanted to engage in right about now. Peter was just thankful that it wasn't too long before they were pulling up in front of the federal plaza.

The elevator ride up to the 21st floor was also silent, the tension in the air was almost getting unbearable and this made Peter immediately go on high alert. It was almost as if he could sense that something wasn't right here at all. Neal normally never let anything get to him – at least not to this extent, especially when it was between Peter and himself – he always managed to sort things out before they got to this stage, or at the very least kept up the appearance that it was okay when they were at the office.

This time however it was different, Peter could sense that Neal was annoyed at him, and annoyed at _something else _that Peter couldn't exactly put his finger on. He could easily sense the anger radiating from Neal's person but didn't feel that it was directed towards him, well, at least not _all_ of it. Also the fact that this sudden mood was all over such a trivial question really bugged Peter to no end. During the elevator ride Peter kept glancing sideways at Neal and wasn't pleased to note that he still had the same expression as when he was waiting outside of the car; it was as if he was trying desperately to not break down yelling at the agent, or just at the world in general – this was unusual, something was definitely up with his CI.

Just as they had arrived on the 21st floor Diana appeared in front of them and requested to speak to Peter alone, thus signalling for Neal to head over towards his desk and review whatever it was that was left there for him to focus his attention on while the other two went off and spoke in private.

"What's going on Diana? Is there new information regarding Holts?" Peter asked interestedly.

"Not exactly. See that's the thing boss, Hughes doesn't want us to work on the Pierson case at the moment, well at least not for a few days." She began before being cut off by Peter.

"What? Why? – is it because of what happened with Brenner? That – " It was now Diana's turn to cut him off.

"No, well yes actually. He's not taking us off the case, he just wants us to not focus on it today and instead has been made aware of the fact that there's apparently a seminar being held in town that he feels it would be beneficial if we all, as a team, attended." Diana said twisting her bottom lip and bitting down on it, indicating that she obviously wasn't too pleased with Hughes' request about this whole seminar idea.

"A seminar? Hughes wants us to attend ... a seminar?" Peter drawled, confusion evident in his voice.

"Yeah, but wait, it's some mental health seminar. Hughes feels that it would be in our best interest if the four of us went down and listened to some guy talk about a bunch of statistics and other things after what happened with Brenner last night." Diana said, still not sounding impressed with the situation at hand.

"Wait – what? A mental health seminar? Hughes knows that we have dealt with things like this before, why does he want us to go to one now?" Peter was beyond confused, this wasn't the first time that one of their investigations had ended up with his team witnessing a death and it was probably not going to be the last time that they witnessed one in a case either – even if it was the white collar division, this was the FBI after all.

Diana didn't reply and instead just dragged her gaze from Peter's face to over his shoulder, he immediately turned his head and followed her gaze until his eyes rested upon Neal. The ex con was sitting at his desk, elbow resting on the table with his non injured hand balled into a fist with his cheek resting on it, there was a file open in front of him and Neal was making the impression that he was actually reviewing over some case file – but it was painfully obvious to Peter, and apparently Diana also that Neal was doing anything but reading the file that sat in front of him on the table. Peter just nodded at Diana at her silent answer.

"Anyway Hughes says that it's a compulsory order so it's not like we have a choice anyway. Diana said offering Peter a small smile before walking off and going to presumably hunt down Jones and inform him of the extremely exciting news of what their day would now contain.

Peter sighed to himself after Diana walked off before turning around and glancing over at Neal who was still trying to create the illusion that he was in fact actually reading the case file; although he still appeared to be on the same page as he was minutes ago. It didn't seem like Neal was putting that great of an effort into making it look like he was focused on the file – and that was never a good sign to Peter. Neal could create any illusion he wanted at ease and normally without that much thought, but the fact that Neal couldn't even convince his peers that he was reading a case file worried Peter immensely as he couldn't even begin to imagine just how deep in thought Neal must be to realize that he wasn't putting up his usual front.

Walking over to the younger man's desk Peter stood in front of it and waited for what seemed to be ages before Neal registered that Peter was standing in front of him and glanced up. Peter had to suppress a noise as he registered the raw emotion that lingered in Neal's eyes a little longer than Neal would have liked before flickering back to their usual calm and collected state. Peter's stomach turned as he briefly caught a glimpse at exactly just how Neal was feeling, the emotion that he just saw in Neal's eyes concerned him to no end.

"Is everything okay?" Neal asked evidently confused as to why Peter was just silently standing in front of him.

_God dammit Neal I should be asking you that question. _

The thought flickered through Peter's mind causing him to frown slightly, there definitely was something wrong going on with Neal and Peter could no longer deny it anymore after seeing that so painfully raw emotion lingering in the ex-con's eyes. What exactly was it that he was thinking about that was causing him that much pure internal agony? Peter mentally kicked himself for not noticing anything off with Neal's behaviour earlier. He swore to himself over and over that he had noticed small little things throughout the past weeks that seemed off with Neal, but he had just written them off to lack of sleep or stress from the job, but Peter couldn't deny it anymore, couldn't deny that there was something wrong, there definitely was something else, something much bigger going on as well.

"Peter... are you okay?" Neal drawled out slowly, concern radiating from Neal's voice as he watched the older man's odd behaviour play out in front of him.

"Yes. I'm fine. Hughes wants us to go to a seminar across town, so grab your stuff and let's go." Peter said snapping out of his own thoughts and for the first time in a long while examined Neal; actually thoroughly examined him. Peter mentally grimaced as he took in the bruises that now lay across Neal's face, but what really made him grimace was the lack of colour in Neal's face. Peter swore that if Neal lost any more colour from his already strikingly pale face it'd look as if he was a ghost – a dead man walking.

"A seminar? Why? What's it about? Is this some boring FBI conference that I am being dragged off to?" Neal groaned as he stood up from his desk chair and grabbed his suit jacket that he had draped across the back of the chair. "I really hate those things you know. They're extremely pointless to me and did I mention boring?"

"Yes I know how much you detest being dragged to FBI seminars. But no Neal, this one is not FBI based. It's a mental health seminar from some professor or psychiatrist or whoever, Hughes thinks that it's beneficial we go and listen to what he has to say, now hurry up, Jones and Diana have probably already left." Peter said walking away from Neal's desk and towards the elevators, hoping that this would be a signal for Neal to follow suit and not complain about the seminar in the middle of the office floor.

Neal did not follow as Peter had hoped.

"What? No. Peter – no. I'm not going." Neal said, still standing next to his desk refusing to follow Peter over to the elevators once he was given that titbit of information, a few others in the bullpen had looked up at Neal's sudden raised voice but it wasn't long before they went back to their own business. "Peter no."

Peter sighed, "Neal it's compulsory, now unless you want to deal with Hughes I suggest you hurry up and get over here now." Irritation evident in Peter's tone as he tilted his head towards the elevator.

Neal was about to protest but thought better of it when it came to involving Hughes. After all the man didn't exactly seem to have as much as a soft spot for him as the rest of the team did and Neal was certain that he wouldn't think twice about sending him back to prison if need be, and Neal would be damned if he got sent back to prison after refusing to attend a mental health seminar. His mouth flattened into a straight line as he walked over towards the elevators and stood beside Peter.

Neal Caffrey was not happy at all.

Peter once again could feel the tension radiating from Neal's body, although this time it wasn't anger or annoyance – it was something entirely different that Peter couldn't even begin to place. There was one thing that Peter was sure of though and that was that this was definitely going to be one hell of a fun morning.

* * *

The car ride there was silent, as once again Neal was obviously locking himself inside his head and getting himself into one of these newly acquired moods of his. Peter didn't bother with the idle chat, and just drove towards the address that Diana had texted him, and before long they were walking through the building's doors, into the auditorium and getting seated as they waited for the seminar to begin. Neal had seemed to have gotten his sudden mood change under control, and seemed more relaxed and at ease – that was until of course a man appeared on the stage in front of them all and picked up the microphone.

"Good morning ladies and gents, firstly I'd just like to thank you all for coming along today. My name is Dr Adrian Weaver, I'm a registered psychiatrist and I will be your guest speaker for the following two hours."

"Two hours! Peter you've got to be kidding me." Neal groaned in a hushed tone and glanced over at Peter who just shot him a stern look which basically indicated to Neal that he was to shut up and listen to the speaker before Peter himself focused his attention back on the man on the stage. Neal sunk back further in his seat and sighed and focused his own gaze onto the man in front of him.

The man who said his name was Adrian looked to be in between his mid forties, his hair was thinning and he had some slight stubble on his face. He was dressed professionally with a suit jacket and tie and Neal noticed that the man seemed to like to move his hands around a lot when he spoke.

"Firstly I would like to take this opportunity to discuss with you what exactly depression is and how one feels when they're experiencing it. The word depression itself is used to describe various and sometimes overlapping experiences. To many people, being depressed means feeling sad, downhearted, disappointed, detached or upset. However a person can feel all these emotions without necessarily being diagnosed as clinically depressed. So how do you know if you're clinically depressed? Well, feelings of sadness are generally brief and have slight effects on normal functioning whereas clinical depression is an emotional, physical and cognitive state that is intense and long-lasting and has much more negative effects on a person's day to day life. Approximately one in five people will experience an episode of clinical depression in their lifetime."

_Well that's a healthy and reassuring statistic isn't it?_ Neal sarcastically thought.

"It is also important to distinguish depression from the sadness that we naturally experience after a loss, such as during bereavement. Although the grief that is associated with loss is often intense and long lasting, such emotions are a healthy response to loss and they allow people to adjust to their new life circumstances. Depression on the other hand, can have significant and detrimental effects on many aspects of a person's life. It is generally important to consider what is causing and maintaining the depression for improvement to take place. This may involve a person approaching life stresses or relationships differently, making lifestyle changes, regaining self esteem or reconnecting with his or her values."

_Oh my god. Somebody please kill me now. Two hours of this._

"Also it is helpful for depressed people to understand what depression is and isn't. It is not something to be ashamed of or to feel guilty about. It is not a character flaw or a sign of weakness, or a lack in discipline or personal strength. It is not just a mood that someone can snap out of. Most importantly, depression is not permanent – the chances of recovery are very high with a number of psychological and pharmacological treatments readily available to help aid in the recovery process."

_Seriously. Please. Somebody shoot me now. God damn Peter I hate you for dragging me to this. I think I might actually prefer prison to this. _Neal pushed that last thought aside.

"However recovery is only possible if the person suffering from these feelings actively seeks help. Many people who are experiencing depression tend to not seek the help that is readily available, as I mentioned before, they often feel embarrassed and ashamed of how they are feeling and will often not seek out help. This is why it's important for other people to sometimes be the ones to offer that help. It's not always that easy to tell if somebody is depressed, and that's why if you notice any behavioural changes that last for more than two weeks in your family or friends, it's worth asking the person if they may be suffering from depression."

_Oh yes, because it's normal for people to just waltz up and ask someone if they're depressed and they'll respond with, oh why yes, I have been suffering from depression! Thank you for noticing. Let's go seek help together. Right. Because that's definitely how life works. No._

"Common signs to look for are moodiness that is out of character, increased irritability and frustration, finding it hard to take minor personal criticism, spending less time with family and friends, loss of interest in food, sex, exercise or other pleasurable activities, being awake throughout the night, increased alcohol and drug use, staying home from work or school, increased physical health complaints such as fatigue or muscle pain, being reckless or taking unnecessary risks such as driving fast or dangerously and the slowing down of thoughts."

Neal didn't notice, but after Adrian Weaver had finished that statement, Peter was now intently glancing sideways at him. Neal hadn't connected any of the signs that the speaker had just listed to himself, but Peter sure had. If the worry that was evidently laced across the agent's face was anything to go by, it was painfully obvious that Peter Burke had now just connected some invisible dots.

"Another sign that someone may be depressed is when they turn to dangerous methods to cope with how they are feeling emotionally. An example of this is referred to as self harm – deliberate self harm also known as self injury refers to people who intentionally inflict physical harm onto their own bodies in an attempt to cope with distressing feelings. This is most often done in secret and without other people knowing. People who self harm may not necessarily want to die, and self harm is not to be confused with as a suicide attempt."

Neal sighed heavily and proceeded to bite down hard on his bottom lip as he tried to focus on anything other than the man on the stage. He didn't want to hear this, and he definitely didn't want to be here any longer.

"There are different types of behaviour that are suggestive of self harm, the most common forms of direct self harm include cutting areas of the body such as the stomach, arms and thighs, burning the skin with cigarettes or a lighter or overdosing on prescription or illegal drugs – taking more medication than what is prescribed."

Neal shifted in his seat uncomfortably at that.

"Now, self harm is usually a response to distress, people self harm as a way of coping with the distress or emotional pain connected with difficult life events or circumstances. That is, the person is trying to relieve, control or express their distressing feelings. These distressing feelings include but are not limited to hopelessness, anxiety, rejection, anger, despair and guilt. It's different for everyone individually however. For some people self harm is a means of trying to make themselves feel better, it provides relief from psychological distress by replacing it with physical distress, as it decreases tension and pressure, releases intense, overwhelming negative emotions and therefore provides a brief escape."

Neal swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a brief moment at the information that was relayed to him. _I don't want to hear about this. Not now, not ever._

"Although it brings immediate relief, it is a temporary solution, which causes the person to have to continuously harm themselves to bring about this relief. Self harm is in a way like being addicted to drugs, once you have felt that feeling of relief, that high, you crave that feeling, and after prolonged use it becomes addictive – self harm is extremely addictive and once the person has started self harming, it usually takes a lot to be able to stop the behaviour for good."

_I'm not addicted to anything. I can stop at any given time. _Neal tried his hardest to not remember the events of last night, and just how out of control he was – it did seem almost as if he was a drug addict; desperately in need of his latest fix to will the cravings to go away. _No. I'm not addicted to anything._

"Some people view self harm as giving them a sense of control over the pain in their lives. It may help them cope with emotional numbness, as when they self harm – they can finally feel something. It proves to them that they are not invisible and that they actually do exist. Some people also report actually using self harm to control or drive away intense suicidal thoughts and ideation."

_Cope with emotional numbness? I'd be happy with emotional numbness, anything is better than this._

"Sometimes people who engage in self injurious behaviour often find it hard to explain their feelings to others or to communicate to others that they are in fact struggling. Self harm provides a way for the person to express difficult or hidden feelings such as emptiness, anger, sadness, grief and hurt. Self harm becomes this person's way of telling other people about his or her emotional pain and letting other people know just how they are feeling and that they are in need of help and support."

_That's bizarre, I'd never let anybody know. I'd rather shoot myself than have Peter, or anyone for that matter find out just how I'm feeling, let alone that __**this**__ is how I manage to cope with how I am feeling. _Neal once again shifted uncomfortably in his seat, earning himself another sideways glance from Peter Burke.

"Now whilst engaging in self harm sometimes suggests that the individual is thinking of suicide, not everyone who self harms is actively suicidal. In general, someone who self harms isn't trying to commit suicide. With suicide, the person is desperate to never have to feel anything ever again, whereas with self harm the person usually wants to feel better. In fact, as I said earlier, sometimes a person who self harms is actually trying to drive away suicidal thoughts and ideation. Nonetheless sometimes people can accidentally die as a result of their self harming behaviour going too far."

_No. Please not this topic. _

"Common feelings underlying both self harm and suicide attempts could be feelings of overwhelming sadness or loss of control and hopelessness. If self injury fails to _work _to cope with these feelings, the person may increase the severity of the harm done, or start to believe that they cannot control the pain and thus begin to contemplate more severe actions, such as suicide. Repeated self injury could also lead the person to believe that they cannot stop, which might also lead to feelings of hopelessness and suicidal thoughts."

_Please don't._

"I'd like to now introduce the next topic I want to discuss with you here today – suicide. When a person is feeling and suffering from depression, they often can see no way out from the intense feelings that they have and it can then lead them to consider suicide as an option."

_I can't sit here and listen to this, not now, not ever. Especially not now. No._

"People who become suicidal are experiencing intense emotional pain, they want this pain to stop and the only option that they see is suicide – a permanent end to their pain. In 2007 suicide was the tenth leading cause of death in the United States, accounting to roughly 34,600 deaths. Now if you think that figure is huge, well there's roughly an estimated 11 suicide attempts per every suicide related death. So that means that a total of roughly 380,600 people attempted to end their life in the year of 2007 alone. Now since then that number has just continued to sky rocket over the years, with not enough people aware of the warning signs to look for so that they can begin to decrease that number dramatically."

_Warning signs. I should have seen the god damn warning signs. I could have saved him. _Neal bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and willed his mind to stop processing the information that the speaker was saying.

"A person who is thinking about suicide will usually give clues or signs to those around them that indicate that they are distressed. The warning signs are different for each individual, but some common physical signs that people are thinking of suicide are the loss of interest and pleasure in all things, loss of physical energy, loss of interest in personal hygiene or appearance, major changes in sleeping patterns such as too much or too little sleep, loss of interest in sex, sudden and extreme changes in eating habits such as either a loss or increase in appetite and weight. Some behavioural signs are unexplained crying, emotional outbursts, alcohol or drug misuse, uncharacteristic risk taking, withdrawal from family and friends, quitting activities that were once important, self harming, putting one's affairs in order, giving away possessions – especially those with a special significance to the person, organising or talking about a will and writing goodbye letters or a suicide note."

_I missed them all. The man committed suicide moments after I left and I didn't even notice, I couldn't even notice that something was wrong. I let him die. It was my fault that he was even suicidal to start with! It's my fault now that he's dead also. My fault._

Neal closed his eyes and rubbed his uninjured left hand against his forehead in a soothing manor, trying to steer off the fast approaching headache. _I need to get out of here soon. _Biting back a groan, Neal opened his eyes again and tried to focus his vision back onto the man on stage who was still rattling on about the importance of nothing these warning signs.

Neal didn't notice that Peter was now focusing his gaze intently on him and not the speaker. With every word that came out of the speaker's mouth Peter had related it to his CI that was sitting next to him, and that began to worry the agent greatly.

"Although most people show a few of these signs from time to time, especially when they are tired, stressed or upset, it is important to remember that just because a person is showing a few of these signs it does not mean that they are actively considering suicide or even suicidal. However if someone happens to be showing several of these signs at one particular time, it is important to respond quickly by talking to the person and enlisting the help and support of others and health professionals before it becomes too late."

_Becomes too late. I really need to get out of here. I can't._

"Now as important as it is to notice the warning signs, it is also very important to notice if the person has experienced their tipping point or not. A tipping point is the point at which a person's risk of taking their own life dramatically increases due to the occurrence of some precipitating event, such as a negative life event or an increase in symptoms from a mental disorder. Tipping points vary from individual to individual, but there are some indicators of times at which people may be under particular stress – these indicators can give an important early warning of the potential for someone to take their own life and they are referred to as triggers. These can include mental disorders or physical illness, alcohol or substance abuse, feelings of interpersonal loss or rejection, the loss of a loved one or job, and the experience of a potentially traumatic life event. Tipping points can be thought of as that final straw that may lead someone who has been considering suicide for quite some time to finally take action and carry out a plan of theirs."

_Loss of a job. Loss of a god damn fucking job. Good work Caffrey at noticing that. I guess it's funny that I also passed my fucking tipping point a long, long time ago. _

Neal outwardly sighed, causing Peter to once again bring his attention to his CI. Peter was instantly dissatisfied with the sight in front of him. Neal was slumped back in his seat, watching the man on stage through half closed eyes; his face was blank, his jaw was clenched tightly shut and his face was void of any presence of emotion. It looked although as if Neal was going through some silent, internal battle.

"Examples of events and circumstances that may act as a tipping point can include an argument with a loved one or significant person, the breakdown of a relationship or job, the death of a family member or friend, the suicide of a family member or friend, a media report about a recent suicide, the onset or traumatic recurrence of a mental or physical illness, unexpected changes in life circumstances and experiencing a traumatic life event such as abuse – mental, physical or sexual, bullying or violence."

Peter shot Neal another sidewards glance as he noticed the younger man once again shifting around in his seat uncomfortably. He watched as Neal placed his elbows onto his knees and lowered his head down into his palms, rubbing his face, unconsciously hiding his expression from Peter's concerned gaze.

"Now that I have told you about how to identify these warning signs, the next thing that is important to know is how to respond to a warning sign. There are five steps that you should take once you suspect someone to be suicidal, firstly you should remove any access to objects that could be used in a suicide attempt and don't leave the person alone too often if you believe them to be a high risk. Secondly you should assess the situation by asking questions such as whether or not the person has a plan to take their own life, and do they have the means to carry this plan out – if so the person is at a high risk of suicide and you should seek immediate help by calling 911, if the person does not have a current plan they are considered a lower risk of suicide and you should talk to them about their suicidal thoughts and develop a plan together to keep them safe in the future."

_Why would you tell anybody that you had a plan. If I ever decided to kill myself I'd lie to everybody around me and say that I was fine, I'd never once mention the fact that I wanted to die and was actually considering committing suicide, all that would do is make people try and stop me, and if I wanted to die so badly that I was willing to killing myself – why would I possibly want someone to intervene and stop me in the first place. _

"Thirdly, talk to other people that the person you're concerned about knows. Talk to their friends or family members and see if they also have noticed anything out of the ordinary with their behaviour. Fourthly, don't panic, if someone you know is showing these warning signs or suicidal ideation or has reached their threshold, try not to over-react – simply talk to the person, assess the situation and respond as quickly and efficiently as possible. Lastly, give the person hope. Tell them that there is help available and that things will eventually get better. Tell the person that you will always be there to help them through their difficult times, it's extremely important for you to show them that there are people that care about them greatly, do not give up on them."

Neal lifted his head up from his hands and slumped back into the chair, sighing again. He tilted his head to the side and placed it on his shoulder, he felt his eyelids begin to grow heavy and they slowly began to close. The sound around him began to get softer and more distant as he found himself chasing after sleep until all that was heard was the deafening sound of silence as he had fallen asleep.

"... Now I hope all of this information has been useful to you all and you are now more aware of the inner battles that some of your colleagues and closest friends could be fighting. I'd like to thank you all for coming out today and listening once again." With that Adrian placed the microphone down on the table and walked off of the stage as the roar of applause was presented and people began rising from their seats.

Peter looked over towards Neal and noticed that the younger man was fast asleep. Sighing, he placed his hand on Neal's shoulder and slightly shook him. "Neal, hey wake up."

The first thing that Neal noticed when he opened his eyes was that he was in a strange environment, he looked towards the sound of the voice and was greeted with the sight of an annoyed looking Peter. "Oh, I guess I must have fallen asleep." Neal said sheepishly as he looked away from Peter's gaze.

"Yeah I noticed that Neal. Come on the speech is over and we can leave." Peter said rising to his feet and stretching out his back, sitting in those uncomfortable plastic chairs for two hours wasn't exactly the greatest thing. Neal was standing next to him in a matter of seconds, eagerly waiting to get out of the building.

"What'd you think of the seminar Boss?" Jones asked, as the four of them headed over towards where the buildings exit doors were located.

"Yeah it was alright, it really gets you thinking though." Peter said, unconsciously looking over towards Neal.

"Mhm. Well I vote that we go and get some lunch, and I'm thinking something really expensive and then charging it to Hughes after he made us sit through that seminar." Diana said laughing.

"Taking it that you didn't enjoy it?" Peter said laughing also.

"Nope. Not one bit. Not the kind of thing I like to listen to for two hours" Diana said once they had exited the building and made their way outside.

"Well I thought it was okay, and I'm definitely in for some food." Jones added.

"Well then that's settled, we're getting lunch. Anybody have any requests? Neal? I'm sure you'll like to request we go to some exquisite restaurant and actually charge Hughes with the bill" Peter laughed.

"Oh no, I'm fine. You guys go on without me. I'm not hungry. I'll just walk back to the office." Neal said, quickly casting a glance towards Peter that the agent couldn't read.

But before Peter could even begin to argue with the ex-con, he was once again, for the third time today, staring after the retreating form of Neal who had already walked off and was now heading in the general direction of the federal plaza building.

"Does that kid ever eat?" Diana said jokingly, unaware of the lingering truth behind her statement.

"Jones... Diana.." Peter sighed, addressing his team members slowly. He swallowed hard before continuing on with his sentence that he had hoped he would never have to bring himself to say in a thousand years, "I think that we have one serious problem here with Neal."

"What do you mean boss? The fact that he's not eating?" Jones asked, confusion evident.

"He has lost an awful amount of weight. Do you think it's something serious?" Diana added, suddenly realizing that the situation here may be a lot more serious and wasn't a joking matter anymore.

"No. Not about his eating habits, well, they probably could factor in. Look, I don't exactly know how to say this." Peter once again stopped himself mid sentence before continuing. "But I think that Neal is suicidal."


	7. The Wrong Direction

****Oh my god! I AM SO SORRY. This took forever for me to update. I've just started university in January, and moved out of home, and towns, and just - it's so much to get used to. I've tried to write parts of this as often as I can, but I'm studying two degrees at uni (Law and Psychology) and neither are easy, especially law school! Ugh. Haha. I apologize, and I hope now that I have got more back into routine that I will update regularly (I haven't forgotten about this!) Also, please ignore spelling/grammar mistakes with this one - it's 4am when I'm submitting and I wrote it all quite quickly for you guys to have an update.

Please enjoy! :)

* * *

**Chapter 7 – The Wrong Direction**

_~Well I could swim, but the river is so wide. I'm scared that I won't make it to the other side. Well God knows that I've failed, but he knows that I've tried. I long for something that's safe and warm - but all I have is all that is gone. I'm as helpless and as hopeless as a feather on the Clyde~_

* * *

"No. Not about his eating habits, well, actually, they probably could factor in. Look, I don't exactly know how to say this." Peter once again stopped himself mid sentence before continuing. "But I think that Neal is suicidal."

"Suicidal? What?" Diana asked, clearly taken aback from what Peter had just said.

"Wait, Peter, you think that Caffrey – _Caffrey_ is suicidal. The same Caffrey that we've worked with for two years now. That Neal Caffrey? Suicidal?" Jones asked, the shock and disbelief was evidently laced in his voice. "Why on earth do you think that?"

"Peter, I know that he seems more down than usual and distracted, but suicidal? Really? You honestly think that things are that bad for him in his life right now that the guy is actually considering the option of taking his own life? As Jones just said; this is _Neal _we're talking about here. Neal Caffrey." Diana added, still shocked at Peter's bizarre idea that the young ex-con could even be considering doing such a thing.

"I – I don't know." Peter sighed, "But he's definitely depressed that's for sure. He fits the criteria for depression to the T and you can't tell me that I'm the only one who connected Neal to all of those symptoms that the psychiatrist in there just said regarding the signs of depression."

Peter was sure that the rest of his team members had also noticed the changes in Neal's demeanour as of lately; his ever present Caffrey smile looked too much as if it were forced upon his face, his actions looked like they were too controlled and robotic and every word that slipped from his lips sounded like a well rehearsed speech that he had spent days and days revising over. In all honesty the whole thing just seemed like one huge well rehearsed act – and it seemed that it was starting to become tiresome due to it's daily repetitive nature and Neal was starting to slip up and miss certain parts of his performance that he kept putting on for his colleagues.

"I have to admit I have noticed that he does seem more – unlike his usual Caffrey self." Jones quietly stated, neither of the three of them wanted to think about this; the possibility that somebody who was now regarded as a close friend; quite possibly even as family – could be hurting in such a way. Especially when it was somebody like Neal Caffrey who pretty much detested the thought of emotions; especially negative ones – having any control over a person. Neal was the kind of person who would opt to bury everything that he was feeling instead of acknowledging it, speaking to someone about it and seeking the necessary help. This was definitely going to be a difficult situation for the three of them to tackle and handle delicately.

"Yeah, I agree with you boss there. He certainly did fit the criteria for depression pretty spot on." Diana sighed, not wanting to have to acknowledge in the slightest what she was about to say. "He also did fit some of the criteria for suicidal ideation pretty well. I can see where you are coming from Peter, but just because he relates to a few of those warning signs doesn't mean that he's actually at that point and is considering that option."

"I'm not one hundred percent sure that he's suicidal – hell – I'm not even fifty percent sure that he's ever even considered the option. But then again I can't stand here and say that I'm one hundred percent sure that he's not considering it, that the idea hasn't ever crossed his mind once or twice in the past few weeks. It's been a tough few weeks for him, and as much as he wants to deny that fact, it's blatantly obvious to us all just how badly things seem to be getting for him." Peter sighed, he was glad that his team had also noticed the behavioural changes in Neal and it wasn't just his overactive imagination and worrisome nature for the ex-con getting the best of him.

However the fact that Jones and Diana had also noticed the changes wasn't completely a good thing. Neal Caffrey was skilled at hiding anything and making people believe whatever it was that he wanted them to believe – but he wasn't fooling anybody right now and that fact alone set off thousands of alarm bells inside Peter's head.

"I don't know Peter, depressed – sure, maybe. Suicidal? I don't… I mean… It's Neal." Jones said, as if that simple fact alone spoke volumes. Jones couldn't even begin to address what it was that Peter was insinuating. Neal Caffrey – master con artist – suicidal? No. Peter surely had to be mistaken.

Didn't he?

"Okay well we've all at least agreed on the fact that Neal's quite possibly suffering from some form of depression. I mean I haven't seen the man smile in weeks, and by smile I mean an actual, genuine smile – not flash us that well practised con-man smile that he thinks we're all too stupid to see through. I mean that's just plain insulting. But to think that Neal is contemplating suicide though, I just – I cannot see it. Not Neal." Diana said, adding her two cents on the matter, she also along with Jones was refusing to believe that their favourite ex-con could even be considering committing suicide. It was such an unnatural thought – Neal Caffrey – suicidal? No.

"As I said, I don't have any hard evidence at this point in time that even remotely suggests that he is, or that proves that he isn't. But now that we're all aware of each other's suspicions and observations I'm hoping that the three of us can discreetly of course, keep an eye on him and just … watch him more carefully and the second that one of us notices something just slightly off with him – well tell one another, and the three of us can all deal with this together as a team. We all try and figure out what's going on and we all try and help him together if the need arises. Agreed?" Peter knew that his team members wouldn't object in the slightest, over the past two years that they had all been working together with Neal, Jones and Diana had both grown to like the ex-con a great deal, and it seemed that somehow, Neal Caffrey had managed to wiggle his way into their hearts as well, even though neither of them would ever admit to that fact out loud. They both cared for him though, and the last thing that any of them wanted to see was Neal to hit rock bottom and have nobody there to turn to at all and help him back up.

"Agreed." Jones said nodding.

"Definitely boss." Diana added.

"Alright, well that's settled. Now how about we go and get that lunch and try and think of anything besides Neal Caffrey for at least the next hour." Peter said, heading off towards the closest food outlet, Diana and Jones followed alongside him in silent agreement.

* * *

Neal could feel Peter's eyes burning into the back of his head as he walked away from the group that now stood huddled together outside the exit to the building that they had all previously just occupied. Neal felt a twinge of guilt coursing through his body as he walked away from them. He felt bad for turning down their offer for lunch – it was a rare occasion for all four of them to have an opportunity to eat outside of the office for lunch at a nice restaurant instead of over a cardboard noddle box in the conference room whilst looking over case files.

The mere thought of food however made Neal feel sick to his stomach, and thus caused a frown to begin to form on his face. He really needed to start eating more – scratch that – he needed to start actually consuming some amount of food in general. It had gotten to the point where Neal had lost count of how many days had gone by without him consuming anything at all, and that was not a comforting thought. Neal knew that he was starting to lose weight at a drastic pace and he was sure as hell that the rest of the team had also noticed his sudden decline in weight. He was actually half expecting Peter to show up at his doorstep in the middle of the night and ask him if he was suffering from some form of an eating disorder that he was keeping secret from the agent.

Neal chuckled to himself at the absurdity of that thought; he wasn't deliberately starving himself or restricting the amount of calories that his body consumed. He wasn't set out to lose weight, or even care what his weight was for that matter. It just happened – involuntarily. He didn't feel like eating, half the time the thought of food itself in general made him feel physically ill and the other half of the time he just honestly couldn't be bothered going to the effort of putting food into his mouth. It just seemed like such a tiring ordeal to go through and he would rather just not have to bother with the simple day-to-day task more than what was absolutely necessary – and apparently he hadn't yet gotten to the point where it was becoming life threatening – so the _absolutely necessary_ point still hadn't been reached yet.

_Extreme changes in eating habits, such as either a loss or increase in appetite and weight. _

The sentence from earlier on in the seminar flashed through his mind as he remembered the speaker rattle off the symptoms of depression and suicidal ideation.

_Loss in appetite. _

_Loss in weight. _

Neal furrowed his brow slightly at that thought, the fact that he wasn't hungry had nothing to do with his mood or his emotions. He wasn't depressed – Neal Caffrey did not get depressed. He just .. was not hungry, that was all.

_Right. _

That's what it was that he would tell himself.

That's what he would spend the next few hours, even days, trying to convince himself of. That this, sudden, unexplainable lack of appetite and weight loss was just some random, spontaneous, unrelated happening in his life. They were not symptoms of depression; they did not mean that he was quite possibly emotionally unstable currently – because no, Neal Caffrey did not suffer from depression or any mood disorder for that matter. Neal Caffrey was not a man who let his emotions control him; he did not allow such negative emotions to have such a controlling impact on his life, and such a dominant role. He was not that man. No – he was _Neal Caffrey. _

Neal Caffrey did not get depressed.

Again, that was another thing that he would spend days upon days trying to convince himself of. He would try as hard as possible to wipe all of the memories of the past few weeks from his mind; he would desperately try to erase any indication that last night's mental breakdown had ever taken place. That the sheer agony that he had experienced last night did not actually exist, that he didn't almost lose himself last night once he allowed his mind to enter that dark place, that by just trying to allow himself to feel some of those buried emotions he almost lost his mind. Neal would refuse to acknowledge that there was a part inside of his mind, a part where he had stored every bad thought, every negative emotion – a place where he had spent months upon months and years upon years, hiding away all of these negative thoughts, burying them into the deep secluded corners of his mind.

That was a place that he had sworn to himself that he would never try and visit, a place that he would never in a thousand years muster the courage to try and face. He'd never try to open the doors to what he had closed and locked away inside of there, because sometimes – when a door gets opened, especially one that hasn't been used in decades – the hinges can stick and refuse to move, the locks can break and rust apart and thus cause the door to refuse to shut again – allowing it to remain open. Allowing every single thing that was ever locked away in there, thrown in there to never be seen or acknowledged again – the chance to escape and be free. That – that right there; that was one of the most dangerous things that Neal could ever allow to happen to himself.

Because once that door opened, and once those things inside escaped and had the chance to take over – there was no going back for Neal Caffrey.

Once everything had crawled its way out of the dark recesses of his mind, it wouldn't be long until his entire mind, his entire being was flooded with nothing but this dark, black cloud of negativity and it would consume him and his every waking action. It would eat away at him, slowly and painfully, until any remaining light was destroyed and the dark abyss, leaving behind nothing but emptiness, darkness and pure and utter sheer agony, swallowed up everything pure and hopeful.

What was locked away inside of Neal Caffrey's mind had enough power to destroy him, to utterly cripple him and throw him off of his feet. That's why it had to stay locked away, once it was released, there was no turning back, no chance of fending it off, there was no chance of survival once that door was opened and everything inside was released and started swarming around him. Everything that he had spent so long building on top of this darkness would crumble and fall to pieces around him – his entire world would collapse around him and there would be no chance of salvation. It could be thought of as that gust of wind that would knock his perfectly structured world built on top of a deck of cards over – literally destroyed in the blink of an eye.

Ever since Neal was a young adult he had started pushing aside all of the dark thoughts into this corner in the back of his mind, at first the thoughts were capable of dealing with under the right circumstances – but Neal just didn't want, nor have the time to deal with such emotions, and so instead he opted for the easy way out – he pushed them aside and tried to ignore them. This was the biggest mistake that he would have ever made, because over time, it wasn't just an option that he had if he didn't want to focus on something painful or deal with it. This became his first reaction to everything and anything negative, anything emotionally draining, anything that had the possibility of hurting him or causing him to be upset – anything that he didn't want to deal with he pushed aside.

Overtime the amount of dark things that Neal was storing in the back of his mind had gotten to the point where he wasn't just hiding and storing negative emotions; he was building a beast within with the thoughts and feelings without intending to. After awhile everything that was pushed aside was fuel to the growing fire, and it just made the beast within stronger and more powerful. Until every single dark thing that had ever happened to Neal Caffrey had balled together and turned into this raging monster, hell bent on destruction and utter emotional chaos that needed to be locked away for good and chained into the back of his mind. Because if this thing ever got the chance to escape, to take over the controls inside his mind, to let it have free control of him – it would surely eat him alive. It would destroy him slowly from the inside out, and the wave of emotions that would be released would be enough to emotionally cripple him for years.

The amount of pain, sorrow, anger and hopelessness that the beast contained was enough to cripple Neal for good, and hold him down and drown him alive, and then swallow him whole. That is, of course, why Neal refused to even acknowledge the presence of such a creature, of such dark emotions that he contained locked away inside of himself.

Until last night that is.

Neal had unconsciously opened the door last night to the backs of his mind when the death of Brenner had happened, and everything else that had happened just became too much. He tried to shove aside all of the thoughts he was having, but didn't quite manage to shut the door fully in the emotional state that he was in and a small glimpse of what was inside managed to sneak its way out and wreak havoc upon his mind and body for a small period of time.

Thankfully, he managed to rid his mind of its presence by subconsciously making his body cast an extreme amount of physical pain upon itself. The physical pain somehow worked and Neal managed to successfully shove everything back inside that corner of his mind and avoid a full-scale emotional break. However once that small amount had been released, even only for that split moment before being locked back up, it was stirred and it wanted now more than ever before to be released again. Once it got that taste of destruction it could cause upon Neal's mentality and emotions, it wanted nothing more than to be given that chance again and do just that.

It wanted to break him, it wanted to crush him, it wanted to cause unimaginable amounts of pain. It wanted to bend Neal as far as he could go emotionally – and then break him. It wanted to take over, it wanted to destroy every single little thing in its wake, it wanted to do nothing but cause absolute and utter emotional agony onto the man who refused to acknowledge it, the man who had locked it away for years and fed it nothing but negativity. The man who had hid it from the light for so long that the only emotions that it had ever had a taste of were that of anger, pain, heartache and sorrow. Now that's what it ached for, what it longed for, that's what it wanted to get a taste of all over again. Though this time it wanted to be the sole purpose for such emotions – it wanted to be in full control when they washed over his mind, it wanted to be the one to break him. It longed to destroy the man who made it who it was today. It wanted to destroy anything that it came into contact with, and unfortunately for Neal – that happened to mean his sanity.

Neal shook his head in an attempt to make himself stop heading down the dangerous path that his thoughts were currently travelling along. He didn't want to think about this and just how close he actually was to breaking down and losing everything that he had spent so long attaining. It was obvious as hell that Peter was suspicious of him; Neal tried his hardest to pretend not to notice the glares that Peter shot him every time the speaker on the stage had said something that could be related back towards himself and his current situation. He knew that Peter was also relating all of those symptoms, those theories – back to him. He knew that blowing off their lunch invitation would just make Peter even more suspicious – he was fairly certain that Peter believed him to be depressed.

As much as Neal wanted to deny it – and boy did he want to deny it – he had to admit to himself that there did seem to be a fairly high likelihood that he was in fact suffering from some form of depression. After everything that had happened in the past few weeks he didn't blame himself for feeling the way that he did – but to let Peter realize that he was feeling this way was what he hated and mentally kicked himself over.

Neal would allow himself to feel depressed, he would allow himself to cry, he would even allow himself to hate every single fibre of his being – that was all fine. Well, as fine as it could be. But to let another person know that he was struggling, that he was feeling this way – that's what he hated. If another person knew that he was depressed, that he was emotionally unstable, they knew your weakness and it was a show of a lack of strength. That's what he despised more than ever – he hated the fact that he had let Peter see such a side of him; he hated Peter knowing that right now he couldn't emotionally handle certain situations – that he was emotionally _weak. _

Neal absolutely, more than anything, hated losing his normally stoic composure in front of Peter. He hated the fact that he got these intense mood swings out of nowhere in front of Peter that required almost every single fibre of his being to control and not let bubble to the surface and erupt. He also hated the fact that he had to use every ounce of his control in his body to stop himself from just collapsing on the ground in a heap and just screaming – screaming at the top of his lungs that he was not okay – just completely breaking down and begging for understanding, for compassion and screaming that he needed the older man to help him, to fix him.

He hated not being able to be considered and thought of as the strong, calm and collected con man that he used to be. He instead was now referred to as the broken, depressed, ex con artist who couldn't emotionally handle anything that was thrown his away – the one who probably went home every night and broke down alone. He was regarded as the depressed one, the one who was quite possibly even regarded as being suicidal.

_Suicidal. _

No.

Neal Caffrey was not suicidal.

He didn't deserve to be.

Neal did not deserve such an _easy escape_. Sure, there were countless times where he wanted more than nothing to just end all of the misery and the pain – but he didn't deserve to get to do that. He didn't deserve to be free of everything. He deserved to suffer, he deserved all of the pain, and he deserved to have to face the consequences of the actions that he had carried out. He deserved to be in pain and to wallow in his own self-misery for the rest of his days – he did not deserve happiness. Men like him did not get a happy ending – and Neal surely did not think that he deserved one.

Closing his eyes tightly shut he willed all of his thoughts to just come to a halt. He didn't want them heading down this path, if Peter was becoming suspicious of his behaviour than he needed to keep himself composed, and thinking these kinds of things on his way back to work and mulling over them was definitely not the way to go if he wanted everybody to think that he was the same old Neal Caffrey and that he was in a sane, happy mind frame and not _this. _

No matter how far off from the truth that was.

It wasn't long before Neal had arrived back at the federal plaza and was on his way up to the White Collar Division. Once inside the building he headed straight towards his desk and took out the first file that his eyes laid on – he needed something to distract him if he wanted to keep composed for when the rest of the team made their way back in.

After a few minutes Neal was certain that he wasn't paying attention to the file in his hands; and after reading the same sentence for the sixth time he decided that case reviewing was probably not one of his specialties at the moment. No longer mentally paying attention to what he was reading, he decided to give off the impression that he at least was. As he was no longer actually reading the words on the pages in front of him he was now focused on the words floating around inside of his mind instead. Exactly what he wanted not to happen.

Neal outwardly sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, today was definitely going to be one hell of a long excruciating day.

* * *

It was roughly an hour later that Peter, Diana and Jones had arrived back at the office. He heard Peter and Diana laughing at something Jones must've said as they walked off the elevator and into the bullpen. Neal glanced up at them from the file in front of him as they entered, making eye contact with Peter as he walked past. Neal could have sworn that when his eyes connected with Peter's he saw the agent's smile falter slightly. But Neal ignored it, pushed the thought aside and dragged his gaze back down onto the blur of words on the file in front of him.

"Caffrey – Peter wants you in the conference room now." Diana's voice broke him out of his poor attempt at concentrating on the words written in front him. He looked up to find her retreating form heading towards the conference room where Peter, Jones and some of the Harvard crew were all sitting – waiting for him to make his appearance.

Neal sighed, closed the file that he had long forgotten about and headed up the stairs towards the others. When he walked into the conference room he tried his hardest to ignore all the eyes upon him as he joined the rest of the team at the table and quickly grabbed one of the case files that were sitting in front of him. He willed his brain to be able to concentrate on the file this time, and what it was that Peter wanted to talk to them all about. Quickly scanning through the summary at the top he realized that this was the file on the surveillance on Michael Holt.

"Alright, as all of you know, we have been collecting information on Holts for awhile now to find out what he gets up to when he's not with Pierson. It seems that he has a routine he likes to stick to on Saturday nights – it seems the Jade Buddha is a club he likes to frequent regularly. We assumed that a meeting at a club or bar would have to have been our best attacking point – what we need to do now is find out a way to use this information to our advantage and get Neal and Holts to communicate." Peter said, finishing his statement by locking his eyes onto the faded blue of Neal's. It almost seemed like Peter was staring at him, waiting for him to speak up with some brilliant idea.

Neal was at a loss. It was painfully obvious that Peter was waiting for him to speak up – to say something – to say anything like he usually does. His mind wasn't running the way that it usually did on these types of cases, and the only things that were rushing inside his mind were things that he would rather not share with the older man. The silence that fell over the conference room was deafening, and the sound of his own heartbeat was making him incredibly nauseous.

_Someone make this stop. _

"We can send Caffrey in to the club as a gambling addict. I hear the place is known for its excessive amount of poker machines and gambling tables. We can have him pretend to be drunk and call somebody – loudly – expressing how he lost a lot of money and urgently needs a lot. Have him announce this near Holts and make him state that he is willing to sacrifice a lot of money if it means the return of a lot more – illegal or not. Pretty much just convince Holts to invest in Caffrey." Diana said, noticing Neal's obvious discomfort at Peter not so subtly addressing the question towards him.

"That may work. What do you think Neal? Can you pull it off?" The agent asked, still not removing his gaze from Neal.

"Uh. Yeah – Yeah of course I can." Neal added his signature thousand watt Caffrey smile up at the agent, but Peter didn't return the gesture. He hated that smile. He knew that when it was plastered across Neal's face it meant one thing – the exact opposite. The smile was beyond fake, and it was only used when Neal refused to show his true emotions.

"Good. We'll brief more on the smaller details tomorrow afternoon so you're ready to meet with Holts tomorrow night. I think that's all for today, Jones – I want you to continue monitoring Holt's activity and see if anything changes in his usual routine. As for the rest of you, continue with your smaller priority cases and take an early leave it nothing else comes up before then. Neal – stay behind." Peter dismissed the rest of the group and walked over towards where Neal remained seated behind the conference table, file still in hand.

"Yes?" Neal asked sheepishly, looking up at Peter who was now standing above him.

"Are you sure that you can handle this?" Peter asked, straight to the point.

"Is there a reason why I couldn't? This doesn't seem any more difficult than any other undercover operation that I've done in the past." Neal leaned back in the chair, throwing the file onto the table, trying to act as nonchalant about the whole thing as much as possible.

Honestly – he wasn't sure that he could pull this off in his current state of mind. But he was damned to let Peter know that, Peter knew enough of his secrets – he wasn't going to know anything else. He also was damned to let them all down by not going through with this simple task.

"I don't know Neal – is there?" Peter asked, sliding into a seat across from Neal at the conference table, staring straight ahead at the ex-con.

"No. Peter. There isn't." Neal said locking his gaze with Peter's.

"Good. I was just making sure." Peter said, keeping his eyes still fixed directly onto Neal's. It was if they were having an unspoken conversation with their eyes – seeing which one of them would back down first, which one would surrender and admit defeat to the other.

"Is there anything else I can do for you? Or can I go home early also?" Neal questioned.

"Do you have any other case files to read over? Any mortgage fraud cases?" Peter asked, still holding his gaze with the younger man across from him.

Neal immediately dragged his gaze away from Peter's, ending the game and looking down at the stack of files in front of him regarding Holts. He looked back up at Peter again, "No." He lied. "I'm finished with all of my case files."

Peter didn't look convinced, but he let it slide nonetheless. "Well then you're free to leave. Make sure that you're here on time tomorrow. We can't waste any more time with this investigation Neal." Peter said, standing up and heading towards his own office – dismissing Neal.

Neal just clenched his jaw tightly shut and followed Peter's retreating form out of the conference room. He walked over to his desk, grabbed his things and proceeded to leave the building and head home for the day as quickly as he possibly could – he didn't want to be there a second longer.

* * *

He was halfway home when it happened. When his mind just refused to cooperate with him no matter how hard he tried, how hard he willed himself to not go there – he couldn't stop his mind from heading down that dark path. The emotions flooded through him like a tidal wave and it took all his strength to not collapse on the sidewalk and yell out in frustration.

He squeezed his fists into tiny balls and dug his nails into the palms of his hands. He couldn't deal with this, not again – not one night after the other. He didn't have the strength – physically or mentally to fight off these obtrusive thoughts. Tonight he was going to need help.

He needed a special kind of help for this.

Fists still tightly balled together he headed off with one destination set in mind; it wasn't long before he was standing outside of the liquor store. This was an option that he had hoped he would never have to rely on – drinking excessive amounts of alcohol until his entire body no longer felt anything and was numb and he could finally forget about everything.

Neal didn't want to become one of those people who relied on alcohol when they had problems, although he couldn't say that his current method of coping was much better – heck, it was a hell of a lot worse. Drinking alcohol seemed like the better alternative to what he would usually do in this situation. He entered the store and headed straight towards the spirits section, he grabbed up a bottle of Jack Daniels and a bottle of Vodka. If he was going to shut everything up inside of his mind he was going to need a hell of a lot of alcohol.

He purchased the bottles and exited the store; his mind was already racing, his thoughts already going haywire. The bottles felt like fire in his hands, it was as if he was holding onto a burning hot piece of iron. He desperately needed to feel the alcohol coursing through his body.

He quickly made his way back to June's and headed upstairs to his room. Once inside his eyes locked onto the bathroom door and Neal lost it. Everything he buried about last night came back; the guilt he felt over causing Brenner's death was enough to push him to the floor. The bottles clanked loudly alongside of him as they made contact with the hardwood floor – thankfully they didn't break.

Not even bothering to get a glass he opened the bottle of Jack Daniels and took a whiff of the smell, the strong scent of the whisky assaulted his senses and he closed his eyes tightly as he took a swig of the amber liquid. It burned his throat as he continuously drank from the bottle, but it was a welcomed pain to the thoughts running through his mind.

Before long three-fourths of the bottle was emptied and Neal's head was starting to spin, his vision was dancing in front of him – and he was well on his way to becoming intoxicated. The thoughts were long gone from his mind; it took a fair amount of effort for him to focus onto anything, let alone form coherent thoughts in his mind. Neal smiled lopsidedly at this.

He rolled onto his side and stared at the bottle that sat in front of his face – this was his new best friend. This made everything go away, this made the hurt disappear and the happiness that he had lost come crawling back into his life – even if only for a short period of time. Neal loved this moment more than anything – he finally felt alive for the first time in the past three weeks.

Neal took one more swig from the bottle before his vision faded into a welcomed black haze.

* * *

He didn't know how long he had been lying on the floor, but his back sure protested against the stupid idea once he became conscious again. His head was pounding ruthlessly and it was still swimming, his vision still assaulted him and he had no idea what time it was. The only thing that he was aware of was the annoying shrilling noising coming from alongside of him – he shot daggers towards the offending object, and then noticed that it was his cellphone. His face paled at that realisation. He outwardly groaned and grabbed onto the object that was alongside of him and answered the call without checking to see who it was.

"Hullooo." He slurred.

"Neal? Is that you?" Peter asked.

"Pet - erh." Neal stated.

"Yes. Neal. It's Peter. Look, I know I said you could have the night off, but thing is Pierson made a meeting with Holts for tomorrow night and apparently whatever it is that Holts does at this club is important enough for him to change his plans to accommodate it into his routine tonight. He's there now – we need you to go in now." Peter quickly rattled off.

"What." Neal stated. Dumbfounded.

"Look – Caffrey – I know I said you'd have tonight off, but Neal, this is important. This is our only point of attack. I need you to come in and get briefed. Can you be here in 20 minutes?" Peter asked, the urgency was evident in his voice, if he could tell Neal was drunk he didn't show it.

"Sure." Neal quickly said hanging up the phone, not allowing for Peter to say anything else on the matter.

Neal dropped the phone beside him and quickly pushed himself up off of the floor. He immediately regretted it as everything around him began to pulsate together into a blur of colours. He felt the ground get yanked out from underneath him and the colours start to dance in circles around him. He couldn't focus his vision onto anything for longer than a second – and even standing was becoming hard to continuously do.

He only just made it to the kitchen sink before he violently emptied the contents of his stomach.

His head was pounding mercilessly and he was now greeted with a loud ringing noise echoing in his ears.

_He was so beyond fucked when he got to the Bureau. _

* * *

I hope you enjoyed! Poor Neal :c  
**Please R&R ! **


	8. Falling Down

I tend to always start with an apology lately. Oh my, I am sorry! This is taking longer than I expected with university. Damn, studying a law degree and a psychology degree is not as easy as it seems - actually I don't think it sounds easy at all - anyway! I'm on university holidays now until the 24th of July, so hopefully I can squeeze another chapter in before next semester starts! Then once that semester is finished I have 4 months of holidays! (November, December, January and February) so I am hoping to have this finished in that period - I still have like 15 more chapters left, I know I said that ages ago - but this is actually a longer story than I originally planned. I have this all plotted out, and believe me, there is a lot more to go down in this chapter. This, this is not even the half of what I have install for Neal. (That sounds quite sadistic - I am sorry) I warned you guys, this is a big Neal!Whump fic.

Side note - this semester at university I enrolled in the class "White Collar Crime" which I am looking forward to so much! Even though it's from another degree (Criminology) That I'm not even studying - I don't even know if I can enrol in the class, but I did anyway - because it's god damn white collar crime! Ah.

I'd also like to make a small shout out to **Gracie** - your comment, despite how long ago it was left, it was made me knuckle down and post a new chapter. I honestly do appreciate each and every one of your replies, your comments are what is what makes me want to keep posting. I'm actually surprised that there's over 100 comments and none of them are negative, I was expecting at least over half to be. So thank you! Your continued support of this story is extremely appreciated. I cannot say thank you enough!

Anyway, without writing a small novel up here - on with the next chapter you have all been patiently waiting for!

* * *

**Chapter 8 – Falling Down**

_~One minute I held the key, the next the walls are closed on me. I discovered that my castles stand upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand. It was a wicked and wild wind that blew down the doors and let me in. Shattered windows, and the sounds of drums – people could not believe what I had become~ _

* * *

After emptying the contents of his stomach into the sink, Neal continued to dry heave for what felt like hours on end. He wasn't sure if it was the copious amount of alcohol in his system that was causing him to throw up, or if it was the panic that was slow quickly washing over him – or heck; maybe it was both of them combined – each having a turn at tying his stomach into knots.

Neal ran a slightly shaking hand throw his now sweat dampened hair and sighed heavily. His head was pounding excruciatingly and his vision continued to ruthlessly dance around in front of him, taunting him. There was absolutely no way that he could walk into the bureau in this state and pull off being sober and one hundred and ten percent okay. Neal was an exceptional con artist, one of the best in the world – but that was something that was just downright impossible to pull off despite how skilful or convincing you were.

He glanced over towards where the now almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels lay situated on the hardwood floor. He walked back over to where it sat and picked up the bottle, tilting it on an angle so that the amber liquid sloshed about inside. He watched the liquid move about, trying to ignore the sudden intrusive thoughts that raced through his mind to just consume the remainder of the alcohol, forget about the rest of the world, and call it a night. He quickly placed the bottle onto the kitchen counter, and turned his back to it.

He really needed to get a grip on the situation at hand – and fast.

In a matter of minutes Peter would be expecting his remarkable and talented CI to walk through the doors to the white-collar division – sober and completely fine, ready to be briefed and go undercover – at a freaking bar nonetheless.

Neal slammed his eyes closed, blocking out the remaining light in the room and tightly clenched his jaw - his entire body was tense. He really was going to hear it from Peter when he stepped foot into the conference room drunk – hell, that was if he could even manage to walk through the doors and not collapse to the floor before he made it past his desk.

He still felt like the room was spinning underneath him, and he still felt extremely nauseous even after just throwing up whatever little remained in his stomach, and his pounding head was not letting up either, it was still pounding away furiously. None of this seemed to be pointing in his favour at all.

Neal picked up the discarded cellphone and slowly opened his eyes to be greeted with the bright screen and some blurry numbers, which indicated the current time – It was 8:47pm. He squinted his eyes and read the little white digits informing him that he had to be at work in just over 10 minutes.

There was no way in hell that this was going to go down well at all. He briefly debated calling Peter back and telling him that he suddenly came down with a severe bout of food poisoning and that he didn't think he could make it in. He however pushed that idea out of his mind; he didn't want to disappoint Peter any further than what he already had in the past few weeks.

Not that showing up completely intoxicated wouldn't disappoint Peter anyless, or anger him greatly. Actually, now that he thought about it, calling in sick would probably be the better alternative to the disapproving look he would be receiving from Peter and the rest of the team when he arrived at the bureau.

But he could do this.

He was Neal Caffrey – and Neal Caffrey could do anything.

He took one final deep breath, and headed towards his bathroom in search of some much needed pain medication. If he was to do this, he needed this damn headache of his to go away so that he could think clearly – well – as much as he could think clearly in his current intoxicated state of mind.

Neal stepped inside of his bathroom, flicked the light switch on and automatically regretted doing so. He was now standing in what looked like a crime scene. Broken shards of glass lay scattered along the floor, alongside of droplets of smeared blood.

_Oh. _

He had forgotten about last night's little episode.

Neal felt the colour drain from his face and he immediately headed towards the toilet bowel and for the second time emptied the little remains of his stomach contents. After he had finished dry heaving for the second time that night, he leaned back against the wall and tried to steady his irregular breathing. His mind flashed back to last night's events and he leaned back against the wall, in much the same fashion as he had last night after his breakdown.

Once he had got his erratic breathing under as much control as possible, he forced himself to stand up. He took a deep, steadying breath and opened the cabinet the pain medication was kept in. Neal knew that alcohol and narcotics were not to be mixed, but this was a desperate situation. He grabbed a hold of the bottle of hydrocodone which Mozzie had somehow managed to get his hands on and given to him awhile back after he had injured himself on a job. Neal tipped out two round tablets, and swallowed them dryly.

He didn't have time to change his outfit, so he quickly patted it down and tried to smooth out any slight creases that may have formed from drunkenly laying on the ground. He grabbed the bottle of cologne and sprayed an excessive amount on his person to cover up any hint of bourbon that may be left on him.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, and saw a broken up version of his face starring back at him due to the many cracks and swirls in the mirror's surface thanks to last night's events. Neal couldn't help but think how much of a fitting image that was for him.

_Broken._

Neal pushed the thought aside and quickly vacated the bathroom; he grabbed his cellphone and keys from the kitchen counter and headed towards the door. His vision still danced in front of him, his head still pounded despite the narcotics he had previously just consumed, and the world still felt like it had fallen off of it's axis and had now been situated lopsidedly.

He dialled the familiar cab number, and told them the address he wanted to be picked up from as he was making his way down the stairs. Neal frowned at how difficult of a task walking down the stairs had now become in his current state. He gripped a hold of the railing next to him with his free hand as tightly as he could as he painstakingly slowly made his way down, one step at a time.

_Oh I am definitely beyond screwed. _

Once he had managed to make his way down to the foyer below him, he walked outside and tried to take in as much of the night air as possible, in the hope that it would sober him up some as he waited for the cab to arrive. The night air managed to alleviate a little of the dizziness that was unfortunately still present, but other than that, Neal still remained extremely intoxicated.

It wasn't long before the headlights of the approaching car could be seen down the road, causing Neal to wince and shut his eyes at the sudden assault of light on his pupils, which caused the pounding in his head to intensify for a split second.

The car pulled up alongside the footpath and Neal managed to make his way inside of it without any incidents. He told the driver where to take him, and ignored the strange look he received for requesting to be taken to the FBI's office at 9pm on a Friday night.

Neal tried not to express his discomfort as the car lurched away from the sidewalk and onto the road; the movement was not a welcomed experience at all. He felt his stomach doing flips, and silently prayed to God that he wasn't going to be sick for the third time tonight in the back compartment of a cab.

After what seemed to be like endless hours of torture riding in the cab, the car arrived out the front of the federal plaza and Neal immediately felt the colour in his face fade as he saw the building and realized just what he was about to do.

He was about to step foot inside of the Bureau – drunk. No. _Intoxicated. _He was going to walk into the white collar division smelling of bourbon and possibly even vomit that the excessive amount of cologne he was wearing could not mask. His eyes were blood shot, his face was a pale as death, and he would most likely be unable to stand straight for more than 2 minutes at a time.

He was probably going to break some damn section of his parole conditions, which covered showing up to work whilst under the influence.

He was beyond screwed.

"Mister? That'll be $8.90 tonight." The cab driver's voice broke him out of his mini panic attack that was going on inside of his mind.

"Oh sorry, right. Um." Neal mumbled, reaching into his pocket he pulled out his wallet and took out a $10 note and handed it over to the driver. "Keep the change." He said whilst exiting the vehicle.

He was now standing in front of the building. He felt his pulse quicken, his headache still mercilessly pounding away, his palms suddenly became clammy and his breathing took on an erratic rhythm. Before he knew what was happening he rushed over to the closest garbage can and expelled his stomach contents for the third time that night.

After the embarrassing ordeal was over, Neal quickly regained what little composure there was left of himself and hurriedly made his way inside the plaza and headed straight towards the lower level bathrooms. Once he made his way inside he stopped dead in his tracks as he took in the sight that was starring back at him in the mirror.

He didn't recognize the person looking back at him at all. The man in the mirror looked gaunt, he looked like death. His eyes were bloodshot from the alcohol and the throwing up that had just taken place. The dark circles underneath his eyes did nothing but enhance the red veins that laced around the insides of his eyes. The lack of life that shone in his eyes was evident, how his team members believed his lies that he was okay was beyond him. His cheekbones had become a lot more defined over the past few weeks from the lack of food that he had been consuming, and his face was extremely pale, which only made the dark rings under his eyes seem that much more prominent.

Neal sighed and tore his gaze away from his reflection. He turned the tap on and cupped his palms underneath the cold water, and once an adequate amount had gathered in his hands he splashed the cold liquid onto his face. He repeated this several times until he was satisfied with the result, he grabbed some paper towels and dabbed them against his face. Once all the droplets of water had been removed he lightly slapped himself a few times on both cheeks in the attempt to add some colour back to his extremely pale features.

Deciding he couldn't put the inevitable off any longer he made his way out of the bathroom and over towards where the elevators were situated. With a shaking hand he pressed the up button and stood there waiting for the elevator carriage to arrive, much like an animal awaiting their slaughter.

Actually – he was an animal awaiting his slaughter.

It was only a matter of seconds before the elevator carriage arrived on the ground floor and the doors opened – thankfully there was nobody getting off. Neal wanted the least amount of people possible to end up seeing him tonight in this current state that he was in.

He walked into the elevator and pressed the button for the White Collar Crime Division, leaned back against the elevator's wall, closed his eyes and sighed heavily. His head was still swimming, his vision was not remaining focused nor still for more than a split second and it took every fibre of his being to force his body to stand upright. How he thought that he was going to manage to go undercover in this state was beyond him; there was no way that he could pull this off tonight – he was a complete and utter drunken mess.

Peter was going to kill him.

The moment that he had been dreading arrived as he heard the elevator ding alerting him of his arrival onto the 21st floor. Neal forced his eyes open and winced slightly at the light assaulting him, he walked off of the elevator and through the glass doors leading into the bullpen. He was once again relieved to find that it was also empty and that he would not have to run into any unnecessary agents working late, who probably did not want to experience a drunken Neal Caffrey.

"Caffrey, up here!" he heard Peter open the door to the conference room and shout out at him before retreating back into the room.

Neal kept his head down and focused on the pattern on the carpet as he tried his hardest to walk in a straight line towards the conference room.

_Oh great, stairs. _

He clenched his jaw, took a deep breath, and attempted to walk up the few stairs that there were without gripping onto the railings beside him for dear life. He managed to slowly make his way up them, that is until he came to the fourth one and he felt his entire world tip upside down.

His arms automatically went out beside him to grip onto the railing and steady himself as he felt his knees begin to buckle underneath him. His head felt like it weighed a thousand tons, and it took almost every bit of strength that he had left to hold it upright. His vision started blurring together in swirls of various colours, and he was certain that any second now he was going to throw up again or pass out unconscious.

Neal quickly turned himself around, ignoring his body's protests at the quick and sudden movement, he tried his hardest to block out the dizziness and half ran his way to where the bathrooms were located. Once he got inside the men's room he went straight over to where the stalls were, slammed one shut behind him, flicked the lock and got down onto his knees and once again was face to face with a porcelain toilet bowl.

The first thing that Peter would have heard when he rushed into the bathroom was the sounds of someone violently dry heaving.

"Neal, buddy, are you okay?" he tentatively asked the ex-con.

_Oh why did you have to follow me in here Peter. _

Neal, by now had finished his fourth bout of dry heaving and was now leaning back against the toilet stall's wall. Not even bothering to answer Peter's question, he just lightly groaned back in response.

"Neal, open up this door." Peter said, in his _do-as-I-say-right-now _tone.

"Peter, just go away. I'm fine." The slight desperation was evident in his voice.

"God dammit Caffrey open the door. You're by no means _fine._" Peter ended his statement by banging his fist against the locked door. "Neal!"

Neal winced as Peter banged his fist against the door, the loud noise did nothing but intensify the pounding in his head; it felt almost as if somebody had kicked him in the straight in the temple. He let out a small whimper from the pain and hoped that it was undetected by the agent standing outside the stall.

"Peter, jus go way." Neal half slurred, and almost immediately regretted losing his composure over his words like that in front of Peter.

"Neal? That definitely does _not_ sound as if you're okay in there?" Neal could hear the worry etch its way into Peter's voice. "If you do not open this door in the next minute, I swear I will kick the thing in."

"No. I am fine, I just want to be left alone. I'll be out in a few minutes." Neal said every word slowly, allowing himself ample time to make sure that he pronounced them accurately. He couldn't afford to have any more slip-ups like that in front of Peter tonight.

"Neal?" Peter questioned, Neal could sense that there was suddenly a shift in Peter's tone of voice, something was off.

"What?" Neal tentatively questioned, looking over at the closed door where he believed Peter to be standing outside of it.

"Are you _drunk_?" Peter asked bluntly.

Neal felt the colour drain from his face, and a lump begin to form in his throat.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

"No? What? Why do you think that?" Neal asked before he could stop himself and almost immediately regretted asking too many questions at once, it was a clear sign of guilt – and he knew that Peter knew that.

_Damn this alcohol! _

"Firstly you were slurring your words and secondly, Neal, you smell of bourbon." That off tone in Peter's voice was still there. Neal couldn't tell if it was anger, shock or disappointment, or all of them rolled together.

"I'm not drunk." Neal added as much confidence in his voice as he could muster.

"Neal, it's not often that I can tell straight away when you're lying to me, but right now, through this locked door, I can tell that you're lying." Peter sighed.

There was no response for a few seconds, and then Peter heard the sound of the stall's lock unclicking, but the door remained closed. Peter grabbed a hold of the handle and yanked the door open to reveal a very dishevelled looking Neal Caffrey next to the toilet bowl.

He was sitting on the tiled floor of the bureau's bathroom, back up against the wall, arms crossed over with his palms resting on his knees that were drawn up to his chest. His knuckles on his right hand were a mixture of blue, purple and red as the bruise from earlier was still slowly developing. His head was leaned back against the wall, eyes closed and his mouth slightly open as he breathed slowly through it. His hair was ruffled, and he was extremely pale, except for the red that tinted his cheeks and forehead from the dry heaving that he had just partaken in minutes before – however the main thing that caught Peter's eye was just how _fragile_ Neal looked.

Neal was always thought of as the strong, invincible con artist who could do just about anything that he set his mind to – this was not the same Neal Caffrey that was sitting in front of him on the bureau's bathroom floor. No, this Neal Caffrey looked utterly hopeless and lost.

"Neal?" Peter questioned, he felt all the anger about the situation leave from his body as he felt concern take over. He remembered back to the conversation he had just earlier today with his team about Neal's current mental state.

This was pretty much a cold, hard slap in the face at just how bad things were getting for the young ex-con, and just how bad Peter had let them.

Neal did not respond, instead he just opened his eyes and stared straight ahead in front of him at the wall on the other side of the toilet stall.

Peter couldn't help but notice just how empty Neal's eyes also looked; how lifeless they now seemed to be. The dark circles underneath his eyes just highlighted the fact. They were no longer a bright, sparkly blue – the colour that every member of his team had come to adore and fall in love with – now they were more of a dull, faded grey.

Peter crouched down beside his CI, "Neal, hey, let's get you up okay?" Peter said placing a hand on Neal's left forearm.

Neal's face scrunched up in pain as Peter made contact with his forearm, and he abruptly pulled away and shrugged off Peter's touch. "I can stand on my own."

Peter just shot Neal a quizzical look at the way he had reacted to being touched, but stood back and allowed Neal to move on his own. Neal placed his palms alongside of himself and pushed off of the ground and managed to somehow stand himself up without any incidents. He placed a hand onto the side of the stall to balance himself, as he felt the dizziness begin to flood over him.

"Hey, easy." Peter said placing his hand onto Neal's shoulder this time.

Neal once again shrugged off Peter's help, but did not react in the same way as he previously had when Peter touched his forearm, it was as if Peter had hurt him then. This was something that Peter thought was odd, and so he made sure to take a mental note of the incident.

"I'm fine Peter. I can stand by myself. Just go back to the rest of the team before they think something's up and I'll come and join you in a few minutes." He pushed past the older man and stepped over to where the basin was, trying his hardest not to catch his own eye in his reflection.

"You'll _come and join me in a few minutes_? The hell you will Neal. The only place that you're going is home. There's no way you're going undercover like this." Neal could hear that little bit of anger creep it's way back into Peter's voice.

"Peter I can still go undercover. I'm fine. We can't afford to lose this opportunity." Neal turned around to face Peter, and placed his best _I'm fine _mask onto his face.

"I know we can't lose this opportunity – but that's not _my_ _fault_ now is it. There's no way in hell that I am sending you in like this. You can barely stand let alone go in there and talk insurance to Holts and get yourself hired." Peter immediately regretted his first few words as he saw the guilt flash in Neal's eyes.

"Neal I'm sor – " Peter was cut off.

"Peter – don't. I know that it's my fault. You don't have to apologise for the fact that _I _screwed up. But I can do this. I'm going in undercover at a bar, it'll look more realistic if it seems that I've been in there drinking and – " It was now Neal's turn to be cut off.

"If you've been in there drinking is a little bit different to if you've been in there drinking their entire liquor supply. Neal you're not just drunk – you're extremely intoxicated. I can't let you ruin this operation." Peter just sighed.

"What's stopping me from going in there on my own and talking to him? I'm not going to let this opportunity just slide. We need to act fast, and you know that."

"Caffrey if you step foot into that bar and even think about approaching Holts without the bureau's supervision, you can kiss that anklet goodbye and say hello to a pair of handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit instead. Just – go home. That's an order." With that Peter exited the men's room, effectively ending their conversation.

Neal was left standing there, staring after Peter's retreating form. Before he realized what he was doing, he spun around and slammed his clenched fist down onto the sink's basin.

"Dammit!" He shouted, not caring who heard him right now, he needed to fix this.

He turned on the tap in front of him, splashed some water onto his face, and ran his hands through his messy locks in the hopes of taming them somewhat. He straightened his tie and brushed off his suit jacket and pants. He had to make himself look decent and presentable – he had a job to go and get after all.

He exited the men's room and planned on heading straight out of the bureau, but instead he saw Peter, who seemed to be waiting for him down the hall.

_Now what. _

"Neal." Peter said tilting his head, indicating that he was to go over there and talk to Peter before he left the building.

He sighed to himself and walked over to where Peter was standing. "Yes?" Neal asked when he was a few feet away from the agent.

"How drunk exactly are you?" Peter asked, hesitantly.

"Not that drunk?" Neal lied. "Why?"

"I told the rest of the team that you were _sick _and that we had to postpone. They're pretty adamant about sending you out, sick or not, as this opportunity is one that we can't lose. I never told them that you were inebriated however." Peter sighed, completely not okay with this. "Do you think you can go undercover? Honestly Caffrey – without screwing anything up. Do you?"

"Yes. I can do this. I won't let you down." Neal's voice perked up at the realization that he hadn't completely screwed everything up just yet.

"You better not, because I don't know how I'm going to explain to Hughes if this goes down badly that I let you out on the field drunk." Peter glared at Neal.

"I won't let you down Peter, I promise." Neal added his Caffrey smile and walked off in the direction of the conference room so he could be briefed.

Peter just stood back for a moment and watched Neal go, he seemed to have mustered walking in a straight line which was a pretty good accomplishment Peter admitted, considering how terribly he was walking when he first came in. Peter just prayed to God that Neal could handle this.

Neal managed to make it up the stairs this time with no difficulties, he could feel the effects of the alcohol slowly wearing off as his vision became a lot more sharper and his head began to spin a lot less. He walked into the conference room and quickly took one of the empty seats.

"Okay so what's the plan?" Neal asked, trying to act as normal as possible.

"Ah, Peter said that you weren't feeling too good?" Diana asked, ignoring Neal's question.

"Oh yeah. I guess I ate some bad food earlier on. I'm fine now though." Neal added a thousand watt smile just for good measure.

Diana automatically registered what Neal just said as a lie, it seemed to be a whole lot easier to tell when Neal was lying lately, but she registered that as a lie mainly based on the fact that it involved Neal consuming food – which he looked like he hadn't done in weeks. She said nothing further on the matter however, and decided to play along with whatever it was that Neal and Peter were doing.

"Well that's good then. The plan is that you're going to go in to the Jade Buddha and talk up Holts – get him interested in what it is that you have to offer, make him want to get you as part of their _team_. The bureau has authorised you to spend a maximum of $50,000 but that is only as a last resort Caffrey." Diana said whilst handing over a piece of paper to Neal that detailed what he had to do in order for tonight to be successful.

"Sounds easy." Neal said smiling.

_This is so not going to be easy. _

"It better be, because we're counting on this way in." Jones said leaning back in the chair, "are you sure you're up to this Neal? You don't look that great."

"Thanks." Neal replied sarcastically. "Honestly I'm fine, I felt a little nauseous earlier, but I'm completely okay now. I can easily do this."

Before Jones or Diana could reply Peter entered the room holding the FBI's audio recording watch. "Okay Neal, here, remember you leave this turned on at all times so that we can hear everything that Holts says to you." Peter said handing over the watch to Neal and adding some stern eye contact for good measure.

Neal was sure by that Peter meant 'leave it turned on so we can tell the minute you stuff up and can send guys into rescue you before things turn ugly' but he smiled in reply to Peter's statement, took the watch and fastened it on his wrist.

"Alright then, let's get going." Peter said, signalling the rest of the team out the door, but before Neal could leave Peter placed a hand on his shoulder stopping him from following the rest out just yet.

"Remember Neal. This is both of our asses on the line here. If you're having second thoughts or any doubts about this we can – "

"Peter, relax. I'm fine and I can do this." Neal added as much confidence to his voice as possible, he hoped it didn't sound too fake, because it was the complete opposite to how he truly was feeling about the situation.

* * *

The van dropped him off a block away from the bar, and after receiving one last stern look from Peter, he was left on his own walking towards the location of the bar. His headache had disappeared almost completely after taking some Tylenol he got from Jones on the ride over, he didn't feel nauseous anymore – well, drunk nauseous. He was nervous about this encounter which was causing him to feel a little sick to his stomach, which was unusual for him. Neal rarely got nervous, it wasn't a good look for your mark to see you nervous. The dizziness had subsided a great deal also, which Neal was thankful for. He didn't want to walk into the bar and collapse onto the ground, that wouldn't exactly get him the rep that he was looking for.

A few minutes later he found himself standing outside of a pretty expensive looking bar – actually that was an understatement; this was a nightclub. The words "Jade Buddha" were in green neon lights on top of the roof and there were two muscular looking bouncers at the entrance checking the IDs of the more younger patrons.

Neal made his way over to the line of drunken eighteen year olds, and other partygoers that was forming outside of the bar and waited to be admitted, it wasn't long before he made it through the bouncers and into the nightclub. The first thing that he was greeted with were strobe lights of all different colours, pounding music and many extremely skimpily dressed females.

He tried his hardest to not wince at the lights or the music, but despite his best efforts he failed when whatever song was originally playing ended to be replaced with some rather loud dubstep. Neal clenched his jaw tightly and tried to make it as far away from the dance floor as possible, he walked over to where the bar was and sat down on one of the barstools and ordered himself some gin. He had no intentions of drinking it – well that's what he told himself – he just didn't want to seem too out of place, sitting at a bar empty handed. That was the excuse he was going to give to Peter anyway.

A few moments later the glass of gin was placed in front of him. Neal stared at the condensation that was forming on it, watching the droplets run down the sides of the glass made his mouth dry.

_One sip couldn't hurt. _

One sip turned into two, and two turned into three, and before Neal knew it he pressed the off switch on his watch momentarily and was ordering his second drink, what Peter didn't know couldn't hurt him. He had turned his watch back on and was half way through the drink when he saw out of the corner of his eye Michael Holts and a young male discussing something off to the side.

"I see Michael Holts. He's talking to some guy by the side of the bar, I'm waiting until their conversation ends and then I'm going to approach." Neal whispered to himself for Peter and the rest of the team's sake.

Neal sipped on the drink while casually scanning the crowd, all the while keeping an eye on whatever it was that Holts was doing. He felt his eyes widen slightly when he saw Holts discreetly hand over to the younger man from earlier a small round pill bottle.

_He's dealing drugs. _

He was about to say something to himself – to Peter and the others – but something stopped him, something made him keep this knowledge to himself. Instead he just sat and waited for a few minutes while he finished the rest of his drink and mulled over how he was planning on approaching Holts who had now found a booth in the back of the nightclub and was sitting by himself.

His drink was long finished, and Neal still remained at the bar.

"Can I get you another?" he heard the bartender ask as he picked up the glass sitting in front of him.

"Uh yeah, sure." Neal said half paying attention to what was actually going on, forgetting for a split second that now Peter heard he had finished his _first _drink and was onto his _second_.

_At least he doesn't know it's the third. _

When the bartender returned with the drink Neal picked it up and headed over to where Michael Holts was sitting. He took a large sip of the drink, swallowed hard and walked over to the booth.

"This seat taken?" Neal said cocking his head to the side.

"Depends. Do I know you?" Holts said not even looking up from his phone that he seemed to be aimlessly scrolling through.

"Not yet you don't." Neal said flashing a cocky smile, this caused Holts to look up and scrutinize who was talking to him.

"What makes you think I want to." Holts again seemed uninterested as he returned back to scrolling through his phone's feed.

Neal sat in the chair opposite Holts in the booth, placed the drink onto the table and clasped his hands together, "We can make each other happy."

"You think you can make me happy? Sorry kid I'm not into _that_." Holts said, once again not looking up from his phone, completely uninterested in Neal.

Neal couldn't help but half chuckle, "Nor am I. That's not what I meant. I know who you are and what you do." He left the statement open, referring to both of Holt's extra curricular activities.

"Oh yeah? Who am I?" This time Neal had captivated his attention, Holts placed his phone in suit pocket, and clasped his hands in front of him on the table; mimicking Neal's position.

Neal smiled at this, "you're Michael Holts."

"And how do you know this kid?" Holts asked, leaning in closer to Neal.

"Does it matter? Point is, I can make you a happy man and you can make me one also. We can work together." Neal said, lowering his voice and also leaning in, this time it was he who mimicked Holt's actions.

"Enlighten me?" Holts said, now also speaking in a more hushed tone of voice.

"I know about Pierson. I want to buy in, but I don't want entry level, I want to be up higher in the food chain – I can get a lot of potential buyers, but I need access to the higher ups for that to happen. I can make you a lot of money." Neal said, now leaning back in the booth and taking a sip of his gin.

"Buy in at entry level is $2500 and that's only if you can manage to get two other buyers at $6000. What makes you think I'm going to let you just buy in and be placed higher up the food chain?" Holts laughed at Neal's absurdity.

"Because I'll buy in at twenty grand." Neal said, watching the humorous smile fade from Holt's face as he realized that Neal was being completely serious.

"You'll pay twenty grand to buy in? At what level are you talking here?" Neal had now gained Holt's full attention.

"Your level." Neal stated bluntly.

"My level? You have to be kidding yourself?" Holts once again found himself laughing at the absurdity of Neal's requests.

"Thing is I'm not. I know I can make you a lot of money, but for that I need to be on the same level as you. I need as much respect from the lower food chain as possible for this to work." Neal took another sip of his gin.

"Look kid, I'll have to talk to Pierson about this. Can we meet later on in the week to discuss this further with him present, I doubt he'll appreciate me doing this kind of high risk business without his knowledge." Holts handed over Neal a business card that had his name and number on it, "Call me tomorrow and we'll arrange a time to discuss this further and in more detail?"

"Will do." Neal said picking up the card and analysing it.

"Well it was nice to meet you – " Holts stood, reading to leave from the booth, but stopped mid sentence, waiting for Neal to give him his name.

"Nick. Nick Holden." Neal paused for a second, and discreetly flicked the button on his watch, stopping this from broadcasting to Peter. "I also have one more thing I'd like to discuss now if that's alright?" Neal asked nodding at the seat that Holts just vacated from seconds ago.

Holts sat back down, "What else Nick?" the tone to his voice indicated that he didn't like to not be the one in charge of the conversation and when it ended.

"Earlier on I saw you hand over something to another patron?" Neal left the question open.

"Pills?" Holts asked, slightly intrigued.

"Yes. What were they?" Neal asked, his tone of voice changing slightly, but not enough for Holts to pick up on, especially with the loud music still blaring off in the distance.

"Hydromorphone – Dilaudid. Narcotics. Why?" Holts really was interested now in what it was that Neal was aiming at here. First it was his insurance business and now his drug business. What did this man want?

"How much a bottle?" Neal found the question leaving his lips before he could stop himself from asking it.

"Seriously kid?" Holts asked.

Neal paused for a very long moment before responding. "Yes." He took his final swig of his glass, consuming the last of the liquor.

"$150 a bottle." Holts said casually.

"I'll take one." Neal said getting out his wallet from his suit jacket, and placing three fifty dollar bills underneath his palm and sliding them over towards Holts.

Something changed in Holts face, Neal didn't care what it was that the older man was feeling in regards to the transaction.

"Kid these aren't just your average strength narcotics, these are one of the strongest there – " Neal cut him off before he could say anything else, or convince him that this was a bad idea.

_Because this was a bad idea. _

"I know what Dilaudid is. Do we have a deal?" Neal pushed the money underneath his palm that little bit further towards Holts to emphasis his question.

Holts opened up the brief case that was next to him on the ground, took out a bottle of the pills and quickly slid them over to Neal and took the money that Neal had placed onto the table.

"Thank you." Neal quickly grabbed the bottle of pills and placed them in his suit jacket. "I'll call you tomorrow to arrange a time to discuss business." With that Neal exited the booth and headed towards the exit of the club.

Once he made it outside he flicked the switch on his watch back on, "Peter I'm outside now. Heading towards where you are." Neal took a deep, steadying breath and headed towards where the van was parked a block away.

The sound of the music now fading off into the distance, the only thing that Neal heard as he walked along the quite streets towards where the van was parked, was the sounds of pills rattling against each other inside of a plastic container.

* * *

Not good for Neal is it ?  
Please review, as mentioned above, your comments really motivate me! x.


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